To counteract the Somoas, I am trying to run again. This shit is for the birds. Literally... I caught my own reflection in the window and it looked like a baby bird trying to run from the nest. I know I am struggling but my arms were all over the place. I need them for balance because I am bottom-heavy. They call it pear shaped. It looks like I have two bowling balls shoved down my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, ok. I am aware of my greater assets. Sadly, they need to shape up.
Again, my own reflection betrayed me when I exited the shower feeling so fresh and clean to start the day I saw two slabs of unrolled biscuit dough staring back at me. Again, no sympathy please. However, I think I can parlay my fate into fortune. I am going to invent the ass-bra. Think about it? It would improve your form in your pants and help give you support to skip down the treadmill golden brick road.
So let it be said, I have pattened'id the Butt-Bra. Or the Bra-ass-eere? That part might be in development. I can see it now, me on the late night tv with Suzanne Somers. If that bitch made millions on here thigh master my butt bra has got to buy me a beach house in Cabo and a new Corolla. It's a sports bra for your butt- and my calling in life. You will applaud when your thighs stop slapping together... I gots to go and see if I can register the # for 1-800-ass-lift.
