Notes from the couch while watching television:

"I'm not exactly sure how that diet pill works, but apparently it makes you turn around and yell 'Yes!'"


"You know, that would be kinda dangerous if that happened to me while I was on an elliptical machine."


"Good thing you don't have to exercise while taking diet pills, I guess."

* * * * *

Now. I've gotta ask you people something. Maybe you know the answer. Maybe you don't.

Can someone please explain the popularity of ultra-low-rise jeans to me? While I'd seen them advertised on television and available for purchase in stores, this past Friday was the first time I'd actually seen them on people, and I've gotta tell you, it was the most uniformly ghastly sight I've seen in a long, long time.

Two words: back fat.

It's a female fallacy: any pair of jeans we can squeeze our chubby asses into, button, and zip, is a pair of jeans that we're gonna say "fits." To some degree, the high rise of 'normal' jeans hides this. Any bulging-up from the ass or squishups from a chubby back are hidden, and all is well.

There's no such room to hide in low-rise pants. Girls, if you're carrying any chub at the front of your waist, reach around and do a grab test - you'll discover you've got it on your back as well. Guess what bulges over the top of your oh-so-hot low-rise pants that you paid way too much for?

You got it. Back bacon, baby, and it ain't pretty.

What really surprised me, even more than the popularity of the low-rise jeans, was the fact that no one I saw wore them well. No one. After a while, it became a bit of a game to look for girls wearing low-rise jeans, just to see if they actually looked good in them.

No one did. NO ONE.

It's been a long time since I've seen an article of clothing (*coughcapripantscough*) that looked so bad on so many people. Not only were the jeans uniformly worn so tight that they created bulges, but they inevitably bisected the body so far below the hipline that they served as an immediate +8 Ass Multiplier.

If these women would wear the pants a size or two larger, sure, they'd lose estrogen cred for going up a couple of sizes, but they'd …. get this, girls! … look better. Instead of squished-up back fat and the Ass Multiplier problems, they'd just have the latter.

Of course, if the girls in question would quit displaying their back fat between their ultra-cropped mini-tees and ultra-low-rise jeans, this wouldn't be such a problem now, would it?

* * * * *

Memo to breasts, assuming breasts have gained powers of vision and comprehension, in which case the world is doomed:

SHRINK! PLEASE!

Ask yourself what happens when your torso shrinks two inches, but your breasts don't? That's right, girls, you go from a 40C to a 38F. Mmmm, the F cup … the no-man's-land between breasts and HOLY CRAP WHAT ARE THOSE MELON-SHAPED OBJECTS ON YOUR CHEST HEY YOU HAVE EYES UP THERE SOMEWHERE, RIGHT?

Yeah. They can shrink now. C'mon, audible shrinking noises … please?

Ok, so they're really on the border of DD/F. It doesn't matter. It just cracks me up to see how many men unintentionally address conversations to my breasts now, though.

I'm a little grateful that it's December, and the advent of sweater season. That way, I can tuck the girls away until spring, and hopefully when I take them out of winter storage, there will have been some attrition.

I suppose I shouldn't complain about the bounty, but the bounty complains when I stuff it into a sports bra, so I feel it's only fair.