When Your Fesses Take Over Your Life

I have a problem.

It's my fesses. My buttocks, ass, popotin, plut-plut, take your pick.  It's taking over my life.

I come from a family of bubble butts and have generally learned to accept my fate, but this my friends, this is getting out of hand.

Before officially declaring un gros problème, I consulted Mopain, just to make sure I wasn't have some silly girlish complex.

WARNING: Never ask a Frenchman a question about fat if you don't want the bitter truth.

Me: Babe, I get this feeling that my fesses have gotten bigger. Am I being silly or do you think so too?

Mopain: Oh yeah, totally. I'd say, like 25% bigger probably.

Me: **disbelief**  .... WHAT? Not 25%!

Mopain: (backpedaling), well, no not 25%, but probably like 20%.

Me: WHAT?!!

Mopain: (realizing that he is in deep merde) Don't listen to me! I'm not a numbers guy!

Side note: Mopain is paid to deal with numbers EVERY DAY OF HIS LIFE. 


In another country, my fesses would perhaps be considered an attribute - something to work for; but in France, it's just taking up valuable real estate. On the bus, in the metro, standing in line. My fesses need another 5 inches to be comfortable. Désolée toute le monde.  Poussez-vous.

On top of that, it's impossible to fit into tiny French clothing.  If I can get the pants over my hips, thighs and fesses, it's gigantic at the waist...if it fits my waist, there's no way I can pull the dress down over my gigantic popotin.

Pas génial. 

I've taken to American and British-made A-line skirts as I work to find a solution.

Is it the secretary spread? Is it age? It is all the croissants? What about the biking? All the walking? The 100 bazillion stairs I take on a regular basis? What will happen if/when I have a child and my hips WIDEN? Will I have to start wearing muumuus?  Au secours.

Just last weekend I was shopping for a nice dress for an event, and as a last ditch effort,  I walked into BCBG Max Azria, hoping to find something on the sales rack. When a sales person came up to me to see how I was doing, I told him that the dresses were pretty, but that they were all size small- not workable for my fesses.  He said not to worry, this is a marque Américaine, the small there is like a medium or a large here in Paris!

Thanks man. Thanks a lot.

As much as I love France, my body doesn't fit here. I'm not alone; the majority of my average-built American friends buy their clothes on trips back home. Some even have trouble buying shoes. And yet. pfffffffft. It's so irritating.

What is an average-sized American girl in Paris to do? My American friends tell me to embrace it. My French friends direct me to their dietician, sympathizing and providing encouragement that I just need to "faire attention". Be careful.

So voilà. For today, I'm going to take my fesses for a walk, and maybe try to find a miracle seamstress along the way.