That time I bought a fake ass from Bethenny Frankel

I just wanted a Pippa Middleton moment.

I’ve never had a note worthy ass. There is not a lot of junk in my trunk and I’ve been in awe of a great booty since Destiny’s Child first started singing about them. Magazines told me that with a personal trainer and a solid two hour (DAILY) work out, I could proudly have a rear to rival my favourite Kardashian. But I like free time and I don’t have a personal trainer and let’s get real- I’m a bit lazy. So I had gently told myself that living bootylicious-less in the world was my burden to bear and I had given up on my Pippa moment.

Until I saw an episode of “Bethenny Ever After” where Bethenny had her assistant model her shape wear butt enhancer (fancy words for padded underwear). I was in awe. I was overjoyed. I was ordering my pair online before the episode was over.

CUE A BRIEF BETHENNY FAN GIRL MOMENT:

Bethenny Frankel is my spirit animal. I love her in a way that is borderline inappropriate and have been known to watch her show while weeping with happiness. I KNOW. Reality television is this dark forbidden topic, similar to genital clamps- that we never discuss, much less admit to enjoying but Bethenny and her show are beyond inspiring and I enjoy celebrating powerful women who kick ass and made their own dreams happen. She’s so genuine, she could be selling arsenic popsicles and I would gladly by them and eat them happily. Plus, she has a killer wardrobe. So if she was selling fake asses, I was buying.

END FAN GIRL MOMENT.

My fake ass arrived promptly (and without shipping charges- a huge score when you live in Canada) and I ripped that box open like box opening was a gold medal event. Immediately, I realized a major error. When ordering, it had asked me to select a size. I, in my overzealous state of happiness, assumed that it was asking what size of ass I was wanting. OF COURSE I PICKED LARGE. If I was going to have a booty moment, I wanted one for the record books. I saw now that size of course, meant waist size. My fake ass was too big. I could have sent it back, but at this point, I was drunk with power and wanted that ass on as fast as possible. I quickly stripped down, put on my fake ass and used an elastic to knot the excess material in the front. I threw a dress over top and marvelled at my behind.

It was magical. I had a backend worthy of any rap video. However, the knotted excess material in the front looked like I was sprouting a baby penis an inch below my belly button. I quickly tucked the knotted material inside the waistband and practiced posing with my glorious rear end.

The next day I went to school in a dress and my fake ass. I smugly walked down the halls, feeling more like Pippa with each step. My dress was not extremely form fitting, but I was able to fill the dress out in a way I had never been able to before and I was living the dream. It was after a chemistry lesson that things began to fall apart.

We had been acting out how molecules move in different states (think solid, liquid, gas- not Texas, Florida, California) and had been playing a human game of bumper cars for the last ten minutes when the bell went and I dismissed the students for recess. One of my ten year old students came over as her classmates rushed by and she told me that something was going on. On my back. But lower.  I had no idea what she was talking about but her voice was a mixture of concern and confusion, which scared the shit out of me. I thanked her, ushered her outside and locked the door.

My ass had been falling down. Sometime during the bumper car chemistry lesson, my elastic had popped off and my fake ass had started sliding. I have no idea how I didn’t notice this but when I lifted up my dress, my fake ass was closer to my knees than my actual ass. Thankfully my dress was long enough that no students would have saw my ass sliding under my dress, but there would have been two LARGE humps on the back of my thighs. I yanked up my fake ass, double knotted it, tucked in my fabric penis and carried on, consoling myself that even Pippa had her moments of non-glory.

I checked my ass religiously for the rest of the day and thankfully it stayed in place. After work I rushed to meet a colleague for dinner. She had been on maternity leave for the past year and had wanted an update on how things at school were going. I arrived early, picked a choice seat near a window and sat happily on the faux leather booth seat.

Dinner was going well, but slow. We had an entire year of school events and gossip to catch up on and my co-worker had a year of new baby news to share. My fake ass had begun to get warm when we ordered dinner but I decided to drink more water instead of ask to move tables. It was crowded inside now and the idea of finding a new spot would have been impossible. But by the time our meals arrived, I was really starting to sweat. The sun was shining down directly on me through the window and the faux leather seat wasn’t providing any relief. It felt like I was sitting on the sun, my fake ass sweating more with every moment. I tried to listen intently about birthing options as I casually alternated lifting my thighs from the seat, hoping that getting air to my underside would provide some relief.  It didn’t. I decided I needed to make a big move when my co-worker began slicing her steak.

I leaned back as casually as possible and lifted my pelvis up against the table while I quickly waved my hands underneath my body.

In short, I was pelvis thrusting the dinner table.

My co-worker looked up and asked what I was doing and because it was too late in the game to admit “HEY! I’M SWEATING MY FAKE ASS OFF HERE AND I’M TRYING TO AIR IT OUT!”, I told her I was stretching. People nowadays stretch all sorts of body parts, so thankfully she nodded and kept eating. I can’t decide if it was her kindness or her interest in her delicious meal that didn’t prompt further questions, either way, I’m thankful.

At this point, I was beginning to panic. The sort of panic you have when your hand gets stuck in a mason jar. I could feel the padding adding to the sweat issue and after a few more pelvic table thrusts, I realized that the problem wasn’t that I couldn’t get air to my fake ass, it was there was no air between my real ass and my fake ass. I could pass off pelvic thrusting the table over dinner but even I knew I couldn’t get away with taking my fake ass off at the dinner table. I couldn’t even excuse myself to the bathroom and take my fake ass off and throw it in my bag- I had brought a small clutch and my fake, beautiful Kardashian ass was too large to fit in my clutch. Besides, I had serious reservations of shoving a sweaty fake ass into my bag. So I had to sit there like a champ and just let the sweat happen.

Two hours (and several litres of sweat later), dinner was over and my co-worker got up to leave. I made an excuse about needing to stay to make a call because I didn’t want her to see my fear as I stood up to leave. I watched her walk out then I gingerly rose from the table. Pools of fake ass sweat began to trickle down the back of my legs. I righted myself, put on my best Pippa face and walked as quickly as possible to my car with sweat continuing to trickle down my legs.

I washed my fake ass and it sits happily in a drawer of belongings I’m not quite sure what to do with. I can’t give it away- a fake ass is hardly a gift anyone will appreciate, but I can’t throw it away either. It’s from Bethenny and it was witness to the most horrifying day of my life. So it stays.

Winter in Canada is brutal and being a teacher means daily outside supervision. Though my fake ass let me down, the padding was amazing and the sweat incident proves that it can retain heat. I’ve decided that I’m going to order another pair (the right size, of course), just to wear this winter while I battle outside, trying not to lose my voice as I tell kids to stop throwing snowballs. I won’t do it to be Pippa- it’s impossible to look like almost British royalty in a snowsuit, but this fake ass will be like ear muffs for my butt cheeks. They will be my fake ass muffs, allowing me to  keep my real ass warm on a cold day.

And that’s almost as good as a Pippa moment.

 

 

 

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