since the birth of my second child, i have a been little uncomfortable with my body. sure, everyone says 'you JUST had a baby' but the truth is, i had a baby 3 months ago. if i had gotten a bad perm and was all 'my hair is a kinky krap mop' people wouldn't say 'but you JUST got the perm - it will get better!' no, the perm will never get better. they haven't improved the formula since 1987 and a quick trip through your own photo albums will illustrate that, even then, perms were wrong with a capital WRON. so i feel a little self-conscious about my figure since packing on [cough cough] pounds while growing my bouncing baby moose and this self-consciousness is compounded by the fact that i have almost no clothes that fit me. i can choose to either relive the round times by putting on maternity pants or pretend that camel toes are the height of 21st century fashion and pour my chunka thighs into pre-pregnancy jeans.

this morning i decided to temper my body image and clothing problem by choosing to wear sassy underthings under my frumpy overthings. i found a lacy racy thong (the exact nature of my underthings play an important role later in the story - i'm not just being overly descriptive) and matching bra and set about feeling Better About Myself. i'm not going to lie, the set did not quite resemble the sexy get-up it once was...including but not limited to the fact that i kept having to chase errant lumps of my luscious lactating ta-tas trying to escape from a b-cup of delusion. staring at myself in the mirror, i thought that perhaps my continuous boob-tucking and saggy ass would only serve to depress me more so i scrapped the whole idea and went to the laundry pile to try again. only, i didn't find another set. i got distracted by something or another (kid) and left the house in a more reasonable bra but forgot about the racy drawers.

i made it the whole day without much concern over the underpants except that i had a hot date in the late afternoon at the gym. since media likes to shove in my (fat) face that other women (like the jolie-pitt matriarch) can have babies and go back to looking great (skinny) before the kid is old enough to open his eyes. oh wait, that's kittens and puppies that are born with their eyes shut, not humans. come to it - why are kittens and puppies born blind? i have no idea and if i take a minute to think about it i can come up with maybe 100 reasons why this is an evolutionary DISadvantage to the feline/canine species. but anyway, celebrities (ms. j-p) show up hours after their offspring are sprung looking like they maybe let loose at the shoney's breakfast buffet that morning but they were always a bit on the thin side so the extra weight kooks kind of good on them anyway. so because i am a whore to media, i go to the gym and because i am also lazy and under the delusion that i have hidden stores of wealth, i sought the help of a personal trainer.

my personal personal trainer is called johnny, is maybe 21 years old, a little dumb, and extraordinarily attractive. i carefully planned my day such that i would be at home with enough time to carefully pick out work-out clothes and make myself look presentable before my appointment. as luck (laziness) would have it, i was running late and dashed out the door, not really able to take much time to make sure i looked good enough such that johnny did not (rightfully) judge me a sad, overweight, thirty-something lactating mother. when i got to the gym, i headed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. my shirt? stained and see-through. and what do you see when you see through my shirt? my see-through sports bra. and through the see through sports bra? two sad little pads that keep milk from squirting out of my gigantic lactating ta-tas and onto an unsuspecting public. pants? not bad from the front but when i turn around...oh sweet jesus! i am still. wearing. the. thong. so now there's nothing protecting my ass's lumpy secrets. super. now i'm sitting in the bathroom trying to think of all the ways i can work out while sitting and all the reasons i can give johnny, the beautiful trainer, for needing to remain seated at all times.

thankfully, since this was our first meeting we didn't actually do any training today but set up an appointment for tomorrow when i can be sure to have on appropriate underthings. but, see, since i am me i couldn't just LEAVE the gym at that point. i was already in obvious work-out clothes and i didn't want to seem the slouch in front of the lovely johnny so i decided to go ahead and get to exercising. again, not wanting to seem a fat loser, i go to the treadmill where i crank up the incline and speed and huff and puff through an entire episode of judge mathis. then i go to the weird elliptical/gazelle hybrid/torture device and huff and puff through the local news. then i go to the bike and huff and puff through an entire issue of entertainment weekly. the entire time i'm thinking to myself 'wow! i must look GOOD in front of johnny! look at how hard i'm working! look at the sweat pouring off of my head! man, my butt feels a little moist.'

i get up from the bike, reach across the seat to retrieve my water from the side harness and that's when i notice that the seat of the bike is wet. confusion turns to horror as i realize that my racy little thong has allowed racy little beads of sweat to pour down my ass and through my pants. i have...an awkwardly sweaty ass. if i were about 50 pounds lighter i could maybe pull off the sweaty ass look but as it stands i am a moderately pudgy mother with a lumpy ass who just soiled the stationary bicycle. i literally - LITERALLY - walked backwards with my hands over my ass to my car. which, incidentally, meant walking through a tremendous thunderstorm but no way in hell was i going to hang out waiting for a lull in the weather when i was already dripping from the ass cheek.

so, yeah. thank god i didn't run into any jolie-pitts because i would have had to seriously, seriously weigh the pros and cons of awkward sweaty ass v j-p obsession.