On my way home from IKEA, I stopped by Giant — not the Gucci Giant, but the one on Ridgely and York — for milk. I was walking up to the checkout behind a woman and her daughter, who were talking about the daughter’s upcoming college departure (I gather she was a freshman). The mother knew I was behind them, and at one point gave me a glance that quickly turned nasty when she realized I was looking at her daughter’s ass.
It’s true. I was looking at her daughter’s ass. It appeared nice, but I wasn’t really focusing on the shape of her buttocks, but rather, the stain of buttsweat on her ass (thus lending it the term “buttsweat”). I thought about telling the mother, “No, no, I’m just looking at your daughter’s buttsweat!” … but I didn’t think that would go over very well …
… so I just kept my mouth shut, got to a lane, checked out, and was gone.
Buttsweat for EVER!