Tits And Ask: The Case of the Disappearing Ass

Dear K & A: My girlfriend is on some “juicing diet” that she’s using to lose weight before her sister’s wedding. Unfortunately, she’s also losing her ass, which was one of my favorite things in the world. Should I mention something to her or could that be taken the wrong way?

KEN SAYS: Your story kinda reminds me of my Uncle Rhudy (yes, that’s how he spelled it), who dropped twenty large on a boob job for his girlfriend, only to come home one night from work to find her letting the plumber use them as earmuffs. Sure, he thought he was doing the right thing because that’s what she always wanted (the boob job, not getting felt up by the plumber), but I suspect that in the back of his mind, he knew the attention they’d bring her would only make things tougher for him.

So I guess I’d ask you if you’re more concerned about losing the big, round ass you’ve grown so accustomed to, or that a newly-svelte girlfriend might attract offers more engaging than what your lame ass brings to the table. If it’s the latter, then you have some insecurities you need to address. Or maybe brush your teeth once in a while and stop wearing fucking cargo pants. How old are you, anyway?

That said, as a fellow ass devotee, I totally understand where you’re coming from. As I’ve always said, if a women sits on my face and I can still hear the radio, then something ain’t right. Re-assuring her (see what I did there) that her derriere is pretty much Christmas and your birthday all rolled into one might help, but if I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that you tread lightly when it comes to discussing the size of a woman’s ass with said woman. Unless getting kicked in the balls turns you on.

ARIEL SAYS: I attempted a juicing diet once. About 6 hours into it I assassinated our entire human resources department with a stapler remover and was later found covered in blood, dumpster diving behind 7-Eleven for any used Slurpee containers. So it’s not something I’d recommend. But I understand your lament and relate; the first thing to go if I eat less than 8 bags of Doritos a day are my boobs. And to go below a D cup would surely mean that the terrorists have won.

Since you still have all your limbs and she has not turned psychotic (yet), I would suggest the following: rig that damn scale until it obediently lists the number she’s (literally) dying to see. Buy all bigger sizes of her clothes, cut out the size number and replace her entire wardrobe. Pick her up and twirl her over your head (not too close to the ceiling fan), or bounce her on your knee and exclaim she’s such a pretty little thing, any lighter and she’d just blow away like a puff o’ smoke!

Too expensive? Too much work? Too creepy and makes you sound like Jed Clampett? OK, try this: when she gets home, starving and angrier than a feral cat stuck in a dryer, gently lead her to the bedroom where, on the bed, you’ve placed a beautiful array of food: a Super-sized meal from McD’s, a bucket of fried chicken from KFC, a triple pint of B & J’s Chubby Hubby. Tell her that you think she is the most beautiful, gorgeous woman you have ever seen in your entire life, and that it kills you to settle for anything less–including less of HER. Explain gently that you love her body, and you love her curves, because they help make her the sexiest woman on the planet. Ask her to please stop trying to meet some cruel, impossible standard set by the media and the fashion industry that doesn’t exist in the real world. And share with her that her sister really doesn’t care what size she is; in fact, she’s secretly hoping that she’s not upstaged by her sibling because it is, after all, HER day, not your girlfriend’s.

And then, carefully remove the plastic wrap and take out… the huge roll of paper towels that you’ll need to clean up the mess after she’s done annihilating the takeout.

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