It's all about the booty

Last night I went out to dinner in Sacramento with my friend M and her husband, who really are the perfect couple. They are smart, sarcastic, well-travelled and the best of friends. They have one of the most successful marriages I know, despite the fact that they both came from dysfunctional families (a fact that they both admit freely, so I am not airing any dirty laundry here). So there is hope for those of us bearing scars from the nasty underside of the nuclear family unit.

Anyhoo. Last night we hit this hip sushi bar in downtown Sacramento and as soon as we walked in the door, it became immediately clear that fish was not the primary item on the menu. The place was filled with these women who looked as if they'd caravanned north from LA, packing a full load of fake boobs, bleached and chemically straightened hair, tiny camisole tops and tighttighttight jeans. Now, Sacramento is a pretty cool place but LA it's not and this was something of a shock. I learned one very important lesson, though: it's all about the ass. Maybe because I'm single again, I'm noticing that men watch women's butts as if they had never seen a rear end before in their entire lives. As one guy told me candidly, men hold the door open for women just so they can get an unrestricted butt view while coming off as being gentlemanly. Men stop and let women cross the street so they can watch as they go by.

Call me naive but this shattered my entire conception of chivalry. I guess I give men too much credit, when really they do everything with an alterior motive. ??

This lesson was brought home to me for real last night, when we were standing at the bar waiting for a table and I felt a tap on my ass. I turned around to see some random guy staring off at the far wall, with his camera phone in his hand, pretending that he HADN'T JUST TAKEN A PICTURE OF MY ASS with his phone.

Shock. Shock! With a slight undertone of disgust and flattery blended together, resulting in complete inertia.