Friday, May 07, 2010

Much ado about butt cracks: read at your own risk

Here I was yesterday having a perfectly good conversation with my friends Boots and Becky. They returned recently from a two-week, fun-filled motorhome trip to California.  

Seems their motorhome has a few glitches like our new-old 1976 RV, which hasn't gone anywhere of significance since Bill had to call the wrecker to haul it to the shop after traveling all of four miles on a trip to Colville.   He ended up driving his pickup.  That was four years ago.

Boots and Becky had distributor meltdown problems---in the middle of nowhere, of course---and learned later that new motorhomes, newer than their 1991 model anyway, don't have distributors, which means not too many fix-it shops have distributors lying around. They said some mechanic searched through a bunch of his old parts and finally fixed them up. 

While sharing motorhome stories, we were standing in the produce section of Wal-Mart.  Suddenly Boots'  attention abruptly turned from whatever hilarious story was dribbling from my lips  into an intense gaze over toward the lettuce.

For a nanno second, I felt miffed that what I was sharing with my funny friend had zero relevance, especially compared to a cellophane-wrapped Iceberg head. Conversation stopped almost instantly.  Becky and I followed his gaze.  

Boots wasn't looking at the lettuce.

Boots was transfixed on a full-fledged butt crack whose owner was looking at the lettuce.  

Now, I know Boots has seen butt cracks before, but to be standing in the presence of two fine ladies while viewing such a phenomenon.  That may have been a new experience for Boots.

I know I've seen butt cracks before too, and I've always wondered about the bearer of the bare butt. 

Do these people have a clue about the reactions that take place all around them whenever and wherever they bend over?  Could these folks be the least bit embarrassed (no pun intended) if  they knew what fits of hysteria they cause during the time they're leaning over to pick up a head of iceberg to see if it's the one they'll choose to drop in the cart.  

Or, are they just so damn proud of that portion of their anatomy that they want to show it off to God, Boots and all fine, dignified ladies who happen to be shopping at the grocery stores or gasping at them in amazement the minute they come to their homes, bend over to do projects like fixing household pipes or other low lying remodel jobs?

After viewing my share of butt cracks over the years, the answers to the above questions still remain elusive to me, and I still break into laughter to the point of tears.

Yesterday, during that bare-butt sighting I pulled out my camera phone from my pocket, hoping to sneak a shot of said butt crack, but like Boots and Becky, I may have a cell phone but I'm lucky to figure out how to answer it, let alone take a picture.

Boots suggested that I just drive my cart around the store and follow the crack wherever it went, for educational purposes, of course.  I suggested, instead,  that I was gonna drive my cart the other way, for fear of making a scene with my tears and giggles.  

So, we all left the produce department, and I've chuckled ever since about motorhomes and cracks.

I still wonder what we can do about the butt cracks of the world or if we need to see them from time to time so that we can hear the other wisecracks that come out of people's mouths whenever there's a sighting.  

I do remember a day so distinctly years ago when my friend Cliff and I were sitting on the top bench in the bleachers at a local Little League game.

A big truck pulled up and parked.  Of course, Cliff, being a truck driver,  would notice such things.  He watched the driver get out and start walking down the sidewalk.  

"Well, here comes the Bonner County Crack," Cliff muttered.  

"Huh?" I said.

"Yup, that's the Bonner County Crack," Cliff added.

Then, I remembered a time when I saw more of this individual's anatomy than I had cared to see, and it was in a very public place.  Suddenly, Cliff's remark all made sense.

This morning when I told Bill the title of my blog posting, he said, "Tell 'em about butt sprackle.  You can get it at Duluth Trading Co."  

I guess butt sprackle provides one answer to the question posed in today's title.  As if that weren't enough, Bill was almost late for work, searching for a copy of  the Duluth Trading Co. catalog, which features clothing for contractors. This particular issue didn't offer me any more insight on butt sprackle but it does supply a solution.   

I have the catalog here before me.

The headline reads:  Exercise your right to bare arms . . . and solve Plumber's butt with in the sleeveless longtail T:  Show off your pipes while covering your butt.

There's a picture of a guy with wrenches, bent over on a floor with puddles.  A lady stands behind him in her apron, with her arms in the air, gasping in an "Oh my, oh my" moment.  

Well, the catalog suggests that if the guy with the wrenches were wearing the Sleeveless Longtail T, which is three inches longer than other tees, the lady with the apron would probably be baking the plumber some brownies rather than standing transfixed in horror over the scene beneath her kitchen sink. 

I think it's time that the Duluth Trading Co. start advertising on the evening network news, just like Cialis and Viagra do.  

And, I'm bettin' sure as shooting that if they did, all the ladies who've squirmed for years over the information imparted in those commercials about the "four-hour" problem would get up and cheer that someone has found a solution to occasional butt crack embarrassment.  

There IS a down side to that though.  My next issue to ponder would concern the web site "People of Wal-Mart."  Would it start to suffer from lack of content?


Betsy said...

Best blog title ever! You made my day. xoxoxo

live love laugh hope said...

So funny. I got to witness a full moon at Home Depot yesterday while a guy was loading his truck, and thought you and Boots should be there with me!! Oh, my!