Just Call Me "Rolly Polly"

I don't think I have a tummy anymore. At some point in time, I surpassed the tummy stage. Tummy implies a cute little area for gentelmen callers to worship. A little area that's all flat and cute. An area that has occassional "tummy aches" or "houses a bun in the oven". I don't have that area anymore.

Tummies usually have a cute little half-innie, half-outie belly button. In commercials, little balls of sweat delicately roll down the tummy into that tiny little crevice and a thousand schlongs stand at attention (Thank you Axe body spray for that image).

I don't so much have that. If the underboobie sweat makes it's way down the middle region, I can guarantee you that there is no one on earth that will find it sexy. However, in that statement, I'm excluding all East German porn fetish guys who I really can't say what exactly they're into. With my luck, there probably is a fat gut sweat fetish group out there and I'll be recieving an email from them at any minute. Side note - if you are emailing, I will accept no less than 1,000 euros for pictures of my sweaty gullet (I have no idead what 1,000 euros is equivalent to - I could be agreeing to do this for 5 bucks for all I know but hey, 5 bucks will get me a sandwhich).

Anyway, I digress.


I don't have one of those tummies. Not sure I've had one since I discovered that with my drivers license came the freedom to drive through McDonald's anytime I damn well pleased. I skipped right to belly. And I'm rapidly approaching gut. Not so sure I'm not already at gut level but a girl's gotta dream. And I'm sure you've noticed that I am posting exactly ZERO pictures to let you judge for yourself.


Of course with the loss of the tummy comes the lose of the cute belly button. A strong wind blows across my middle and you hear the low whistle that you get when blow across a half empty beer bottle. It's a little deep - an echo-like cavern really.

My point? I really don't know. Perhaps I just wanted to share the shock of realizing the my lower regions are now actively trying to grow to reach my upper regions. My belly is now a fleshy porch for the boobies and that can't be good. And hell, I'm thinking this summer we might have a potential chaffing situation and that friction could damn well start some type of fire problem and what with the dry grass situation in Georgia that could well lead to a forest fire. Do we see the ramifications? My gut will lead to the conflagration of an entire state yet I still don't seem to be able to drive past Krispy Kreme.

And now that I have a gut, the whole language changes. I "clear a room and make the dog wince" - I don't "pass gass". I have "I think I broke the plumbin" - I don't have an "upset tummy". I have a clear "I drink beer" middle - and not a "I'll have a wine spritzer" body.

Again, my point? I have no unearthly idea. But at least I'm not talking about Captain Nutty or the POD!

Small steps, people, small steps.

Next week, join for my discussion of back boobies and the desperately needed back bra.