Outings and Bum Cracks

Me looking totally babe-a-licious

Me looking totally babe-a-licious

Towards the end of last year we had spent every daylight hour of every weekend for six weeks maintaining the gardens, lawns and swimming pool. When the work week rolled around it was a relief be able to head into the office for some respite. We accepted that if we want to spend more time travelling in our camper trailer we need to downsize. As serendipity would have it a land agent popped his head over the back fence one weekend while the MOTH was pottering about being creative with sand, PVC piping and a bit of string. The short story is we took a leap of faith and placed our home on the market and have been exploring housing, land and different areas to which we could move.


By Saturday afternoon the chores around home were reasonably up to date so we treated ourselves to a day up the coast looking at housing developments. The further from home we drove the more I felt a sense of calm. Just being away from the ironing stash with its accusing attitude  was a relief.

The housing expedition was a disappointment but it wasn’t a wasted trip. It made us realise that we’re far too young to be looking at two bedroom units without a garden. Also the blurb about living close to the beach proved to be a stretch even by real estate advertising standards. It was more like a trek, and hiking to the beach in our twilight years wasn’t an option given the MOTH’s (man of the house) wonky knees and my rickety hips. We’re more the open the door and fall onto the beach type of people.

Window-framed view of Port Stephens Marina

Window-framed view of Port Stephens Marina

Maverick’s in Port Stephens provided the perfect setting for lunch. Overlooking the marina, enjoying live entertainment and watching old and young dance to hits of the 1970s while perched on flimsy bar stools made us feel quite youthful. When you’ve waited more than hour for your lunch you find things to keep you entertained and feeling my feathers start to ruffle I cast about for something new to amuse us and help us ignore the plummeting blood sugar levels. That’s when we noticed the new-to-each-other couple.

He had that awkward gait of many Gen Y males. You know the one where the thighs are spread wide to keep the shorts or trousers from falling down around their ankles. Usually I take no notice because providing some semblance of modesty are the ubiquitous satin boxers covering the bottom cleavage. Not so with this dude. No boxers to protect unsuspecting souls from his plumber’s crack. I have to say it was distracting, so much so I had to take a photo.  And then the MOTH had to take a photo.  And then we compared photos.  And then we zoomed on said bum crack and took another photo.  I know what you’re thinking but remember our plunging blood sugars.

Being the diligent person I am a little research was required in our post modern ‘evidence-based’ times. So I turned to the fountain of all knowledge – Google – and surprise surprise Wikipedia came up with this profound illumination:

The intergluteal cleft, also known as the natal cleft, the vertical gluteal crease, the gluteal cleft, and, colloquially, the “butt crack”, is the groove between the buttocks that runs from just below the sacrum to the perineum, so named because it forms the visible border between the external rounded protrusions of the gluteus maximus muscles.

So there you have it folks. It’s official – an urban colloquiallism – the butt crack. Which goes to show one is never too old to learn a thing or two. As an old dog I’m up for learning new tricks but I might pass on the butt-crack gig … with these hips anything could happen and who knows what the fall out might be.

Anyone got a coin?

Anyone got a coin?

It did set my mind wandering though. How come butt cracks and butt sag are the domain of the young and not so beautiful? I think us oldies ought to get our butt-sagging-crack-exposing mojo on.  If we doubled the anti-inflammatories next Sunday we could sashay on down to the mall with our bandy-legged walk flaunting crabbed butt sag: satin boxers for the old codgers and for us old dames,  g-strings  two sizes too small because they have to slice into our intergluteal clefts. How about it? Any takers?

P.S.: It was a good day out that provided education and entertainment – a lovely combination.

P.P.S:  Couldn’t tell you a thing about her … but I feel quite well acquainted with certain parts of him.

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