I have absolutely no junk in my trunk — never have, even when I was pregnant — and for the most part, I’m pretty happy about it. I mean a big, round butt requires some maintenance, doesn’t it? It would call for an extra step in my (fantasy) gym routine, and I’m pressed for time as it is. Instead, I feel blessed to have the freedom to ignore my butt altogether.
It’s worked well for me, but apparently, others weren’t satisfied with the state of my posterior. Why else would I receive so many e-mails, comments and Tweets about the Booty Pop?
Called “a padded bra for jeans,” the Booty Pop is essentially a pair of panties with two strategically placed pads in the back. According to the Booty Pop website, my flat ass was actually a liability. In fact, I think they called it a “droopy derriere.” Pictures on the site showed flat-assed women looking downright depressed in their “before” pictures, and ecstatic once they’d added a Booty Pop.
If that wasn’t enough to convince me, I also was assured by the website’s infomercial that wearing a Booty Pop would make me feel more confident and attractive! Who could say no to that?!
I ordered a pair.
My Booty Pop panties arrived a week later, and I quickly put them on under my jeans. Here I am before the Booty Pop experience.
And here I am after, feeling more attractive and confident already!
“You look cute!” my husband said when I came down the stairs. I smiled with pleasure. As we prepared for a trip to the supermarket, I tried to pop out my booty each time a family member walked by. I even bumped my 6-year-old daughter with it. No one said a word.
I assumed they were all overcome with awe and envy.
Things changed, though, when we arrived at Kroger. Hubs and I split up, and within a few moments, I was surrounded by a vast horde of men that trailed me throughout the supermarket, staring at my rear end. Was this what the big-bootied had to deal with every day?
Whoa.
I tried to ignore the mob as I made my way down the aisles. And that’s when I heard my name being called. “Lindsay!”
I looked up and stifled a gasp. It was my boss, Her Nashville publisher Chris Ferrell! Of all the times to run into him!
“Hi!” I waved with a forced smile, pressing my back end up against my grocery cart. “How are you?” The man holds a master’s degree in divinity, for gosh sakes. If he caught sight of my Booty Pop, it would be curtains for me.
He waved back and continued on his way, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Shoo! Shoo!” I said to the horde of men that stood jostling one another at the foot of my cart. Reluctantly, they shuffled off, one by one. This Booty Pop experience was getting to be more trouble than it was worth.
However, I had been given a Style Dare and I was determined to complete it. I wore my Booty Pop panties for the remainder of the day, keeping a safe distance from Hubs lest he impulsively grab my butt and find himself clutching a handful of foam.
At the end of the day, though, it was time for me to come clean.
“Do these jeans make my butt look big?” I asked him popping my booty with everything I had.
“No,” he said. “They make it look great!”
I frowned. “Well, I have something to confess.” I told him about the Booty Pop panties, and he laughed. “They look really good on you,” he insisted. “They make you look curvy.”
This was news I didn’t need to hear. Never again would I be satisfied with a non-existent beedonkadonk. Now that I’d had a taste of the Pop, how could I live without it?
Maybe I won’t, ladies. Maybe I won’t.