Hips don't lie

The other night I was able to tear the boyfriend away from football long enough to play some Wii Fit. We have a tendency to drink too many beers and decide to play the balance game, or even worse, to do the dreaded fitness test that makes fun of you and tells you how weak your muscles are.

I think I am currently 32 on the Wii Fit and the boyfriend, who had been drinking all day, was 48.

It was time for the fitness test and I loosened the draw string of my pajama pants and dropped them. If I was going to weigh myself in front of the boyfriend, I needed everything that worked in my favor.

I never put my pants back on. I was kind of hot and kind of sweaty from kicking his ass on the hula hoop game. The boyfriend's hips are as rusty as the Tin Man's. I stepped on the Fit for another round. I panted as my Mii danced with 4 and then 5 hula hoops at once.

I stepped off the Fit, pleased that I had broken a new record.

"You made me hard," he said.

"What?"

"Watching you play the hula hoop game with just your shirt and panties on made me hard."

In my competitiveness, I never considered he'd be staring at my ass the whole 3 minutes. If I had known, I would have slipped my wide-leg pajama pants back on.

You see, my ass is my biggest part of me. Whomever I date has to be an ass man. It's not freaky huge, but it's noticeable and makes jeans purchases annoying. And you can't have a full ass with skinny-minny legs. Nope, your thighs are going to be as full as your ass.

And I may have flecks of cellulite in both.

So the idea of my handsome boyfriend, ticket holder to the gun show, staring at my cellulite ass clad in 5-year-old panties (that's right, the pair from Wal-Mart with the elastic fraying away at the sides) while I was gyrating away to the hula hoop game horrified me. Horrifies.

All I can think is that he must really, really like me.