Sorry, I’ve left you hanging for a few days… As you’ll see, I was hanging with one of the Superfriends. “Psychic” was too on-the-nose, and sometimes nicknames can take time to develop. After spending a weekend with her.. it’s official. Now, don’t let the name fool you. She’s from London, not Brazil, but that’s not what makes her name so special. I’m giving her this name because not only had I never heard of a “Brazilian Booty” but she went so far as to educate me by Googling how to get one, and there are pages of articles and numerous videos on sculpting the coveted butt shape.
Apparently, to get a Brazilian Booty, you have two choices.. you can dance or you can get a specific type of butt lift aka plastic surgery. Being a responsible mom and devoted wife, Brazilian Booty is going to go with option A. In addition to dancing her ass off, she is going to take belly dancing lessons (though that has nothing to do with her booty, that’s just because her hubby wants a show), and yoga.
Now again, before you get the wrong idea, I have only changed her name, not her character description. This is not a girl who needs to be concerned with her booty, in fact just the opposite. Her booty is all that, attached to what appears to be 6′ of hotness with long blond hair and pouty lips… So, I’m either missing something, or there’s a particular shape of the Brazilian butt that she prefers over the shape that attracts men like bears to salmon… okay let me explain that analogy.
Salmon attract bears to water. Brazilian Booty ALSO attracts men to water. It was a fascinating migration.
The two of us were lying out on the beach. Brazilian Booty, was lying out in the full sun, wearing a tiny black bikini, with her blond hair flowing over her shoulders. Sports Illustrated missed a great shot. I, on the other hand, was fully clothed, actually double clothed. I was wearing a skirt that had shorts under it, just in case the wind blew my skirt up, my moon-white legs, wouldn’t be exposed to the sun… which was still unlikely since I was under an umbrella, with no chair, but the one I’d made out of sand. That’s right. I dug a hole to comfortably fit my butt and built up a back rest so I could lay back. What can I say? I’m a pale, over-protected, beach Macgyver. We were kind of like Uma Thurman and Janeane Garofalo in The Truth About Cats and Dogs, only at the beach not a radio station, and there were not cats or dogs… I tangentalize.
Being so comfortable in my “sand-chair” looking out at the Caribbean blue water, I began to doze off. Just moments before I did, I took a mental picture of the clear water was and how empty the ocean was.
I open my eyes, and there’s a group of men polluting my clear blue water. I look to my right to see that Brazilian Booty was not in her chair and more men were migrating to the ocean. It was kind of strange. Then I looked to my left, where even more men were moving past me to the water, when I noticed Brazilian Booty doing lunges down the coast line. Then she did a few short running drills back and forth, then some more lunges.. as more and more men migrated to the water.
It was then that I made the connection, because unlike me, who had been looking out at the beauty of the ocean, these men were looking back to the coast line, at the beauty of Brazilian Booty. I mean lunges in a bikini? We’re lucky we didn’t have to call a medic! And I figured out why they had to be in the water. It was the only way they could hide their “growing” interest. I’d rather see them polluting my view, than pitching tents all over the beach.
The water crowd dispersed when Brazilian Booty Banger arrived (that’s her husband). Again, don’t let the name fool you. Yes, he is banging her, he’s her husband, but he’s so much more than that. He’s a great dad, an environmentalist, a forward thinker, a sports fan, prank caller, and most important (other than the fact that he’s the kind of guy you wish for, for your friends) he asks for directions when he’s lost. He too, is not from Brazil, but shall keep his nickname.
Last night Brazilian Booty and Brazilian Booty Banger, took me out dancing. We girls got all decked out, she in a tight red dress with sparkling heels, and me in a gold tiered dress, with 4 inch booties, by Jessica Simpson, who in my opinion makes the most comfortable heels on the planet! So, out we go, lookin’ all hot, ready to dance in the place she’d been the night before and wanted to share with me. She’s so excited about the DJ and the mahi mahi… the mahi mahi was delicious. The DJ was a no-show. The dance floor, was now filled with tables of overweight guys eating mile-high nachos, watching blood pour out of two ultimate fighters’ heads. Yup. It was a sports bar on Saturday… and we were a tad bit over dressed. “How did this happen?” she asked me apologetically.
“You went out with me,” I explained casually, “When you get dressed to the nines to go dancing with Romantic Comedy Girl, you wind up looking like you should be on the runway, but no guys notice, because they are overstimulated from the choice between the Yankee game, a rodeo, some race car event, a marathon (seriously, why is it enjoyable to watch people run 26 miles? It just seems boring to me) and a bloody boxer being rear naked chocked by a jiu jitsu champion.
If she really wants to dance her way to a Brazilian booty, next time, I’ll wear my Giants t-shirt and sweatpants and DJ Khaled will show up! Word!