What I'm about to say is going to sound very strange...

...but I'm very protective of my butt.

Yep, my butt. My derriere. My tushy. My bootie. My buns. My keister. My hiney. My arse. My backside. My caboose. Whatever you want to call it, I want to keep it from becoming public property.

Like I've mentioned before, I will never be a supermodel. I have stubby chunky-monkey hands. I have short little T-Rex arms. I don't have picture-perfect teeth. I can't even be a foot model due to a funky toenail from accidentally dropping something on my toe years ago. Perhaps I could be an earring model -- I do have nice lobes. Ok, so if there's anyone out there looking for an earring model, let me know. (I work cheap.)

Ahhh, but I digress...

Basically, I stand out here. I've had some experiences where my big ol' juicy butt has just happened to get in the way of a man's hand. I'm not assuming (ha ha ha --ASSuming) they were trying to find out if a white girl's bootie feels the same as a Guatemalan girl's bootie, but when you're walking down a wiiiide empty aisle in the market and an old man walking in the opposite direction wanders over and brushes his hand upon your butt, it does makes you wonder -- "Did my butt get in his way, or did he go out of his way to run into my butt?" Yes, even old men like to cop a feely. Pervs!

So after one to many "accidental encounters" I've gotten kind of protective of my butt. I go to great lengths to keep my distance so my cheeks won't be grabbed, groped, pinched, poked, squeezed, slapped, spanked or otherwise accosted by complete strangers. (Should you feel the need to do this [and why would you?] anyone who is a follower of my blog is welcome to grab, grope, pinch, poke, squeeze, slap, spank or otherwise get to know my chubby cheeks, because after all, if you are a follower of my blog, you must at least KNOW me and are not a complete stranger.) Maybe this will be our new way of saying hello to each other -- a quick little butt grab. Hmm. Maybe not.

That's what I'm talking about! Mmm-hmm!

When walking down the street, I am very aware of anyone walking behind me. Men on bikes are notorious for copping a feel as they ride by. I don't understand this. What gives them the right? I'd never look at a man and think, "Holy snarkies! I've got to see what his butt feels like!" and give a little squeeze as I walk by. Not even if he's wearing Wrangler jeans. I'm not into the country music scene, but let's be honest ladies -- there really is nothing better than a well-formed Wrangler Butt. (I once saw The Perfect Wrangler Butt on a bus when I was in college and DAMN did I want to bronze that butt and make it into bookends or something. And although my eyes were mesmerized by the "W's" stitched on his back pockets, I was a lady and kept my hands to myself.) (Although my thoughts made me feel like going to church to confess my sins... And I'm not even Catholic.)

Ahhh, but I digress...again.

I know some people think it's flattering to have your butt grabbed, but not me. I always have a little plan in the back of my head for how I'm going to karate-chop someone's throat or throw a rock at anyone on a bike should my butt come in contact with their hand. Strange to live your life that way, but that's how it is here in the macho world of Latin America.

So fellas, if you want to keep your dignity and not have your butt kicked by a screaming white girl in public -- in front of all of your friends -- many of whom probably have phones with video cameras and access to the internet -- please keep your hands to yourself. Thank you.

And until we meet again, stay thirsty my friends! (And keep your hands to yourself... unless there's a Wrangler Butt in the vicinity, and if that's the case you have my blessing to grab until the cows come home.)