While biking home…
I found myself behind a real ass. A butt. A literal butt. A cyclist, unfortunately a slave to fashion, wearing jeans too tight and low for his larger frame. His shirt rose above his haunches, exposing a rump. Slightly plump, it mirrored a woman’s cleavage, or as if Cupid’s rosy cheeks had been cinched together with denim.
At a stoplight, I share a laugh with another cyclist. We both check our own pants and hike them up for safety.
At a stoplight, the car next to us sees the moon in front and captures the image on a cellphone for all the world to see.
We take off again.
A car inches out into the bike lane, trying to get into traffic. This is going to be awkward. We know cyclists don’t like that. Butt Biker gives the car a “I’m right and you’re wrong,” look as he bikes around the car.
The cyclist was right. I’m on his side. But he was smug and we were going slowly, and it was not a malicious occupancy of the bike lane. Luckily for the driver, when someone is scolding you with their butt hanging out, the criticism washes over you.
Judge not, lest ye own butt be exposed.