Behinds

I have a question for you, Dear Readers. Why do certain young men feel that it is perfectly acceptable for them to walk around with their behinds hanging out? As this issue has been literally before my eyes the entire day, I have spent plenty of time thinking about it, and clearly I have no answer.

Today I attended an auction that was located not half an hour from my home. I am here to tell you that in this area of Central Illinois, you hardly ever see those that lean towards the ghetto side of things. Hicks, yes. Gangstas, not so much. For the most part, everyone dresses, talks, and acts decently. That being said, you can imagine my shock when entering the auction to see a whole group of behinds staring at me. Behinds. Not eyes, they were covered by smirks. Not smiles, they were hidden by the cigarettes. Not actual people, but some kind of mixture between human and demonized creature.

Granted these behinds were covered by sheer boxers, but still. The very fact that I know that these random dudes were wearing boxers is revolting. And the ironic part was that they were all wearing belts!!! What is that about? Whoever heard of wearing a belt around your knees? I just have to point out that if I was going to walk around in the frigid Illinois air with my rear end sticking out, which I am not planning on doing any time soon, I really would not bother with such an inconvenience as a belt!

But anyway… I might as well tell you that all of these young men, if you were to hose them down, strip, and redress them, would have been decent looking. In fact, I might even stretch that to attractive. But no. They’re too cool. Such a crime against society. It will be no surprise to you, then, that I kept my distance from these shadows in the crowd.

A few hours later, when returning to the auction, I realized that I had absolutely no choice but to walk directly past this crowd of behinds, but that was not the intimidating part. See, unusually I have absolutely no problem walking up to a perfect stranger, but apparently that’s only if they have a suitable clothing situation on their lower halves. It didn’t help that they were all staring at me.

Okay.

I’m younger.

I like to think I’m decent looking.

I’m alone.

I have no way of defending myself.

There’s one of me.

Four of them.

There’s no one else around.

Their eyes seemed to breath fire while their mouths steamed smoke.

I’m all about the bad boys, but that was just plain scary.

Yet, I mustered up boldness, carried on my planned course, held my head high, and avoided any eye contact whatsoever. But as I walked closer and closer to them, I could feel their eyes cutting into every inch of my body, and I could not help but shoot the very well practiced “Flip off!” glare in their direction. Here’s the thing: While giving them this silent warning, I happened to catch a glimpse of their faces. Beneath their sideways hats and oversized clothes, there stood four kids! Just like me and every other adolescent I know! One, however, stood out to me in particular: blond hair, blue eyes, tall, and (the most interesting part) he still had baby fat on his face. He reminded me very much of a certain someone a year ago, only with worse clothes and short hair. This made me realize that the guys that we standing before me were some mother’s babies! And there they were, definitely younger than I am, smoking, checking out random girls, with their rear ends hanging out! What happened to them? Here’s where appearance is everything comes into play. For all I know they could be smart and caring human beings, but no one would ever see that! Most of us would only see the hocus pocus of what’s apparently cool.

After making this two second realization in my own mind, I was now standing within a few feet of these, dare I say, people? The instinctual glare resumed it’s position locked deep inside the mind, only to be disturbed for other such important times, and to my surprise, a smile and a graceful, “Hey!” came flying out of my mouth! They all about jumped three feet in the air, obviously not expecting a girl to talk to them, and after clearing their throats and straightening up their stances said hi back in an all too macho way.

I wasn’t quite brave enough to stick around to have a conversation them, but I couldn’t help seeing them differently for the remainder of the day. That’s where my question comes in: Why do certain young men feel that it is perfectly acceptable for them to walk around with their behinds hanging out? It ruins everything. Had they been suitably dressed and adorned with a halfway inviting smile on their faces, they might have had the pleasure of conversing with the great and wonderful Sanity Mochas. What a loss! And if I, who does not consider herself to be a judgmental person, would shy away from them, think of the countless other opportunities they will continue to miss out on daily… all because their behinds are hanging right on out there for God and everybody to see. And I am here to tell you, if my own dear Prince Charming ever, and I mean ever, dresses himself in such an inappropriate fashion, I just might have to kill him. And no, not literally.  :)