Not so Flat Flattery

I am currently making my third attempt at yoga. It’s a little shaky because I was planning 2 or 3 times a month and a discussion is going on about the need to practice more often – or better forget it. Two opinions. Two different yoga instructors. Well, I have a decision to make…

Yesterday I was walking to the gym, just 300m distant from my house, when a man driving a motorcycle almost had an accident because he was staring at my bum. In fact, I caught him in the precise moment when he went from bum to check the rest and, in trying to achieve that, he lost balance and almost hit the ground.

And now, if you wonder why I am talking about such silly matter, I have to disappoint you. I am not selling my physical attributes. In reality, I was quite confused. For one side I was kind of flattered because he was African and African men are bum experts. They only acknowledge bums if they are huuuggggeeeee or if they are fit and well shaped. As I don’t own a huuuggggeeeee bum, I suppose I should have reasons to feel flattered. But (there’s always a but) I felt somehow insecure. It’s not the first time something like that happens and, I am sure, mainly if you are a woman, you already felt the same. You notice a man starring at your back and, suddenly, he shows an extreme curiosity to see the rest. And what about the rest? That’s a question seldom answered. I want to know if the rest of me is up to my bum! If it depended on casual flatterers, we would never know if one half of us is as attractive as the other half. I talk of halves here because I’ve seen the contrary. Someone is attracted to the front and, as a consequence, shows an excessive interest towards the rear end. And that is so obvious!

Women are strange. I am, or I think I am, a lot more brain than body. Any praise aiming my brain makes my day. Nevertheless, if you ask me the best compliment I’ve ever received, one I remember right away is Paul’s observation about my bum. He said: “You will never have problems with your bum!”

This can only be pure flattery, because you know, as I know, that the perfect bum does not exist. To believe in such observation, bums had to be fat free, age free and whatever happens to bums in-between perfection and disaster. And there’s also my conviction that a bum is often praised or unvalued by comparison with some other bum. After all, what I find interesting about the above compliment is not the flattery but the extraordinary idea that bums are problem free. Just like that. Wouldn’t it be wonderful?

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