September 11, 2003

I knew there was a good reason I viewed with some discomfort the latest trend in jeans, namely those ultra-low-hung hip huggers.

Recently while running errands I hit the local Staples, which, by the way, is some sort of nirvana for those still aiming for that perfect home-office working environment (not quite as arousing an environment as Hold Everything, mind you, but Staples surely ranks right up there).

Just two minutes into the store, I happened upon two twenty-somethings, a man and a woman, crouched down to view the offerings on the lowest shelf.

And what to my wondering and, yes, wandering, eyes should appear, but butt crack.

Hers, not his.

Butt crack.

At least three inches of good old-fashioned plumber-carpenter-electrician-style butt crack.


[Post-publication addendum (September 12): Professor Pinkerton writes, amazingly without fear in her voice: “Haven’t you heard? Butt crack is the new cleavage.” Oh, God, I’m so afraid she’s right.]


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