It's Big. It's Mine. It's Spectacular. - A Brief History. A Brief Rant.

This morning I decided to get outside and start the day with a run. No big deal, right? Little snow remained sidewalks and paths. It felt pretty warm. My legs felt fresh. Then I turned onto my block, at which point some jerk-off in a black Saab convertible slowed up, rolled down his window and yelled, “You have a big ass.”

What?!? Really? Wow. I'm glad he took time to point this out because, shit, I had no idea.

I kept my line of vision straight ahead so as not to give him any satisfaction. I hate to admit, but I saw red as I clutched my fists to prevent flipping him the bird and escalating the incident. 10-9-8-7- … I cooled off by the time he reached the next block.

Who takes the time to yell things like that at complete strangers, especially complete strangers leading healthy lives? Someone done raised him wrong or he needs some new meds. Maybe he’s miserable and gets his jollies from harassing women. Or perhaps he actually found my rear so offensive he had to scold me for taking it into public? I also entertain the notion that liked what he saw and, being socially awkward, hoped those magic words might make me beg for a date.

Too bad I didn’t have time to respond. “Oooh. Please, degrade me some more, sweet cakes. You’re a real catch. Let me shower up, and we can meet for a Busch Light later.”

His motives matter little to me. The way his action made me feel irritates me. I love and accept my voluptuous backside. Body image never posed an issue for me as a teen. Being picked on for my height taught me self-acceptance before I hit first grade. I didn’t even know my butt was "big," by societal standards anyway, until college.

In the spring of my freshman year, my friend and I were hanging out in the dorm room of a guy I liked. He answered his phone, and I overheard him say, “I’m hanging out with this girl who has a real ghetto booty.” Considering this was a small-town Wisconsin boy at a state school crawling with his type, I knew he’d been dying impress his buddies with that phrase – and be the first to spot one in the wild.

But, at that moment, I lost my innocence in the healthy body image department. For some reason, I knew he was talking about me, not my friend, and it stung. I was 19 and uber fit thanks to the rigors of running on the university’s cross-country team. As a matter of fact, I was so lean that my mom started to voice her concern. At some point after that night, I asked someone – I don’t know whom – to confirm that I had a “ghetto booty.” She circled around it by responding in that high-pitch tone that says yes but avoids honesty, “You have a cute butt.”

Before long, thanks to the admiration of others and musical homages to shapely female behinds, I realized what a commodity I’d been blessed with. If a guy didn’t like the junk in my trunk, then we weren’t meant to be. I shall never join the ranks of rail-thin women. No offense to them; I just wasn’t built that way. Through the years, my girlfriends playfully teased me about my J-Lo rear. At multiple (!!!) jobs, female coworkers have pulled me aside, blushing, to say some version of, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have the cutest butt!”

Given my short stubs for legs, I must embrace what nature gave me in return. I like to think of it as my super power. It represents sexuality, strength and health. 

Last year about this time – must be the season - some young boys called out to me during a run, “Hey fat butt lady.” I flashed a fake smile and continued on my way. Maybe one day, when they’re into chicks, they’ll find admiration for us bootylicious gals. Maybe they won’t. I just hope they grow up to respect women – and humanity in general – enough not to yell lewd and hateful remarks at them from car windows.

Yes, I realize this is trivial. Don’t tell me how people endure far worse in their daily lives; I know. And, I will not grant little people the power to make me feel insecure. Some people love harassing exercising people; of this I am also well aware. It’ll happen again before long.

Why do I care? In the end, I realize this incident upset me at a level that had nothing to do with my body image. It disheartens me that people in the world go out of their way to harm – or attempt to harm – others, especially others who are out enjoying life. There's an element of frustration for how tough it is to be a woman and feel good about your body, but I have to acknowledge society doesn't make it easy for men, either. Maybe if we all spent time playing each day, we’d play nicer.

And, I have to admit, this jerk provided a fun opportunity to write something self-indulgent about coming to know and accept my [excuse the pun] assets.

Rant over.