A eulogy for an old friend

Gone, but not forgotten

  

It is with great sadness, regret and a heavy heart that I must report the most recent and not quite so sudden loss of my ass, nee; bum, arse, can, seat, keister, butt cheeks, glutes, fanny, tail, hind quarters, caboose, buns, pooper, buttocks, trunk, posterior, rear end, rump, duff, tush, backside, behind, heinie, tookus, patootie, derriere, gluteus maximus or as it was affectionately known to me and a few close friends, my buttocksal region. Possibly departing this world as a result of a courageous battle with an often under reported occurrence known as Male Vanishing Ass Syndrome or MVAS for short. A little known and rarely discussed condition fought bravely and silently by many males over the age of 50.

My backside is survived by two somewhat spindly legs, fading eyesight and hearing, a pair of tired and sometimes aching feet, an ever expanding waistline and what some have referred to as an unusually large cranium. My bum was 57 years old, to be 58 in December at the time of its home going.

The exact cause of this affliction remains under investigation at this time. Physicians from the World Health Organization located in Geneva, Switzerland have dedicated a team of highly skilled doctors to investigate the phenomenon known as MVAS, but at the time of this writing, their conclusions are yet to be completed. Most scientists, doctors and academia will agree however, a known cure is at the very least years away.

The onset of my loss was first noticed several years ago on extended flights or long car rides when I found I just wasn’t getting the needed cushioning I had been accustom to from my trusted friend.  I first blamed the fading comfort on stiffer seats resulting from manufacturers cutting back on the amount of padding they were installing in their cushions. As the situation worsened in recent years, I began to rethink my position; perhaps it was my own padding that was being compromised.

Then, in the summer of 2010, while at a BBQ contest, it happened, I was wearing a pair of elastically waist banded shorts when I made a most astounding realization. I noticed I was unable to keep my pants up without the use of one or both of my hands. As I moved about, my shorts continued to slide down, subjecting those in the area to a most unpleasant view, particularly when both of my hands were occupied. I assure you, this phenomenon was not as a result of there being too much weight in the wallet pocket of those shorts. Those that know me would say that I never even carry a wallet when out with friends, at least that is my claim.

Once I returned home, a quick over the shoulder glance in the mirror after a shower gave me a good indication of what was going on. My suspicions were later confirmed by my wife when I asked her to take a look at my caboose, this time, with the lights on. You should have seen the expression on her face when I explained the reasoning behind my somewhat unusual request. Jo, being the trooper that she is, bucked up and came through with an honest, albeit reluctant assessment which confirmed what I had feared, I was losing my ass, the beginning of the end was near or more appropriately (and confusingly) stated, the beginning of the end of my end was at hand. Well…. I think you get what I am trying to say here.

It is true when they say that men are very stubborn and will often times ignore the obvious warning signs when dealing with MVAS. I was no different, a fluke I thought, it must be indigestion, it will go away, the elasticity in those shorts must be failing. Ass loss is something that happens to other guys, you know, like those poor guys they use on television spots promoting a cure for baldness. Those other guys are losing their asses, not me. For a short time, I convinced myself I was alright, all was well. Things went back to somewhat normal, my pants fit fine at least when I was wearing a belt they did, or so I thought.  

It wasn’t long before shorts and pants I was wearing held up with a belt began to slip down on their own presenting the same problems as before. This occurred most times when I was carrying something or had both of my hands occupied. I found I was walking about using one or both of my hands to hold my pants up, and I was doing this unconsciously, belt or no belt. My friend was checking out right before my eyes.  I was caught completely unaware and off-guard as my ass was slipping quietly away, never even giving me a chance to say a proper goodbye.

We have had a great life together, a lot of fond memories, my ass and I. It has been kicked, kissed, hauled and who can forget the many times when I was I told I was acting like an ass? There were even times where my ass (or me) was called both smart and dumb in the same day. I won’t even mention the confusion that resulted when I was told something I did was ‘ass backwards’ or how about that time my buddy said I ‘danced my ass off’, thank goodness, at least for then, he was wrong. We’ve been through a lot together, my ass and I, a friend through thick and thin.

My friends are also in mourning, of this I am sure, for I know that they too have been long time fans. As it stands now, I will be missing a place to store a large assortment of items I have been told to stick up my hind quarters over the years. This thought also reminds me of the many times those very same friends have requested that I blow a collection of things out of my ass. Please keep in mind, these are some of the very same items they, on other occasions, have asked me to insert. Stick it up or blow it out, I always wished they would make up their minds, and I know my ass did too.

But alas, it is a problem no more, as my ass is now nothing but a fond and distant memory. The adjustments for me won’t be too bad, sitting on a pillow and suspenders worn with a belt. A fashion faux pas for some I am told, for me, not so much. At my age, I am not as concerned about looks as I am functionality, if a belt and suspender combo works, I am down with it, the exception being when I have to wear a suit, you know, weddings, funerals and the like. As for parking my keister on a pillow or pad, well, I see a lot of others doing just that, not a problem for me.

Please do not interpret my “devil may care” attitude concerning my wardrobe and pillow plopping as any indifference on my part concerning my loss, quite the opposite. I will miss my friend immensely. Every time I sit down, I will be reminded of how things used to be. Of particular concern is that inevitable winter’s day, when I am on my way out to the mailbox, traversing an icy driveway when my feet slip out from under my portly frame. I will become airborne for a fraction of a second before coming crashing down on what used to be my buttocksal region. This is a day I am not looking forward to; you have left me way too soon my good friend, and I didn't even bit you adieu.

I do understand, however, that this is all part of the grieving process. One of the first and most important steps is what I am attempting to do here, the acceptance and letting go of the deceased, the acknowledgement that a loss has occurred. So for now, I want to say publicly, in front of friends, family and the rest of the world, good-bye old pal, au revoir, sayonara, adios,so long, I know you are gone forever, thanks for the memories. You will be sorely missed…..in more ways than one.