After close to a year of weekly blogging, I can say that I’ve learned some interesting things. Like when I researched different names for the gluteus maximus, sometimes called the gluteal muscles, or glutes, for short. According to, Wikipedia , the fleshy mass of these muscles “in a quadrilateral shape, forms the prominence of the buttocks.”
In case you’re still on your first cup of coffee, I’m talking about the butt.
I researched this topic as a legitimate inquiry for a personal essay. I didn’t post the humorous essay to my blog at the time because I was too embarrassed, but it was accepted in a chronic illness publication. Those readers are used to the TMI, and hopefully appreciate a slightly warped sense of humor. Humor is especially welcome when one’s gluteus maximus and associated body parts are not pulling their weight.
As with all submissions to publications, the editors made some changes to my essay. Maybe I was a little too ballsy in my original draft, but I preferred my version to the edited one. And now, after more months of an uncooperative gluteus maximus and the associated undignified medical procedures, my prudishness has been whittled away. It’s gone from the level of a blue-haired Victorian spinster granny to that of a blue-haired Victorian spinster granny with a bold streak. To confirm my evolution, I’ve posted my original essay to my website, hidden somewhat deeply within a secret tab, but since you’re special, you can read it here.
In case you “don’t go there” literally and figuratively, here’s a limerick I wrote as part of the essay:
Inside my butt is my bowel.
That word is not really so foul.
It could be much worse.
I would have to curse,
Had my given name been Colin Powell.
I’m no Ogden Nash, but I had fun writing that silly limerick. So I’ve taken my gluteus maximus research and put it to good use, giving myself a good laugh in the process. Here’s my result:
My keister’s a thorn in my side.
There’s nothing that I haven’t tried.
To make it work well,
And, (in a nutshell)
Allow me to stay dignified.
It feels like a stick up my ass.
Said the woman, her words very crass.
It can’t last forever,
There must be some clever
Solution to get it to pass.
You say that’s going up my wazoo?
And then you’ll put WHAT up there, too?
I’ll warn you up front
And let me be blunt
It’s nothing I’ll take kindly to.
If you got through those limericks without your writing or personal sensibilities being offended, thanks for indulging me. I’ve found that the more I laugh at my most embarrassing moments in life, the less embarrassing they become. And I strongly believe that laugher is one of the best medicines. It may not heal my gluteus maximus in discernible ways, butt, if it lifts my spirits, that’s healing of another kind.
What about you? Will you share a silly limerick or short poem on your favorite topic? (Let’s keep it R-rated or better, please, out of respect for any blue-haired victorian spinster grannies who might be sneak-reading this.)