Thank you for showing me your ass. It was a pretty bum and exactly the type of thing I’d like to see while mired in the doldrums of serving 16 variations on a prix fixe menu. It also slowed down work a little as the entire patio rose to figure out for what purpose a crowd of men had spontaneously formed on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, the illumination of dozens of smartphones held up high like lightbulbs above each of their heads. Which is an appropriate simile, because they were all getting ideas.
I thought it a little bit rapey when a man came up to slap and grab your butt cheeks while posing for photos in which his friends would later tag him, in a Facebook album entitled ‘TIFF 2013’ or ‘Bros’n’Hoes’, and I found it a little unfortunate for your future sober self that so many were recording your antics, but when you turned around to face your audience, your smiling face offered the consent your rump never could.
Briefly, I considered that there may have been some greater point to make of all this about gender politics, consent, or the proliferation of citizen-surveillance technology documenting and exploiting our drunkest moments, but it escaped me as I watched you make out with the man your fanny caught like a venus fly trap, his feet trying to negotiate the procedure as your limo slowly crawled through the TIFF-induced gridlock of Saturday night.
All I know is that I would never stick my dick out of a moving motor vehicle, with or without the intention of luring a woman towards it, but I’d like you to picture that for a moment, because that’s essentially what you did. Of course, when you did it, it was a lot a cuter.
As I watched your limo make it’s way down Restaurant Row, sitting on the window with your arms on the roof, your dress still hiked up and your head turned coquettishly over your shoulder like a model in a shampoo ad, I couldn’t help but notice you looked, almost, imperious. You seemed to take a certain pride in how one little arse could so disrupt an entire block’s worth of pedestrians and diners.
But I could barely see you at that point, the flow of traffic had swept you away from my sight, leaving me with nothing but the fading memory of the butterfly tattoo which was so appropriately located on the small of your back.
Your Biggest Fan