Savoury Friends

Savory Friends

       by Dee Are

         douglas reimer was a fraud

         douglas reimer caught a cod

         some thought douglas reimer odd

         others likened him to god

         I can tell you he's a clod

         still, if you're one who gets awed

         know he's worthy, though he's flawed

If you are ever in the River Heights neck of the woods you will notice that people here have unusual physiognomies. In most respects they are normal. Their bungalows are ordinary, their lawns neat, their cars shiny and their children smartly behaved. They eat three meals a day, go to the office for their day jobs, and have carpenters in to do repairs on their buildings. Yet, oddly, they look unlike the residents of Transcona, St. Norbert, Fort Rouge, Charleswood, Tuxedo, or Wolseley.

         They have bigger heads of hair, their torsos have a squat fullness about them, and their feet splay curiously as if each and every one of them studied ballet as a child. Most distinctive, however, are there butts, or "asses" as some of my less savory friends would say. I have these, ones with whom I am obliged to continue relations. I encounter them at billiards, in the curling rink, at the Montcalm beer establishment, at the Assiniboia Downs, in the liquor stores, and in a few other places. I got to know Wayne Teflon as a high school teacher. He taught science. He became my friend when I was still too shyly new to the community. Since then I have had reason to wish to forget about him, but he phones me when he's in town and we go for beers. Jackson Simplot, a greens keeper for the Fort Garry Country Club, never passes up a holiday without contacting me to see if I wish to go for a few and watch the strippers. 

         I dislike the Montcalm now, being fifty and not all that active in imagining the female body anymore. I have, furthermore, an aversion to drink and when I've had two I resist the others that men like Jackson press on me. Beckenridge, first name Simms, is in the used iron business on Panet Road. His acreage is contained by an electrified wire fence and inside it at night are three dogs of large size and fierce attitude. He phoned me a few days ago with the offer to purchase a two year old Honda Accord, fully loaded. He said that he'd let me have that "low mileage number" for twelve thousand plus. I thanked him but declined politely. William Kelp Jr. is in clothing retail, Borden Grishman sells automobiles for Car Canada, Spinmann Sweatman is unemployed, but always on the verge of something, Guy Banderbout drives transport along Highway 6. There are a few more but they do not call me as often. 

        Riverheights butts tell a tale of white-collar employment and few kids. The men work in offices and the women stay home for the most part doing this or that but not too much of it. They tend to stick out further than the average. If you take a perspective against a house that one of them is walking past you will notice that the butt temporarily is visible alone without any other part of the body in sight on this side of the house edge. Other butts in the other parts of the city that I mentioned have a shoulder or an elbow or some piece of the anatomy still in the frame. The butt is never alone. 

       Big butts do not fascinate me. Some Africans, I am told, or Africans generally, like a big butt. They like the swing and dip of it as it undulates to the beat. I don't see why they would, but then I am a caucasian. I like (or liked before my operation) a neat and small butt of the sort sported by the Alison Krausses and Gillian Welches of the world. Long legs, slim waist and a round, compact posterior, these did turn me on. A skirt on the same region, a bit short, maybe, or swaying and kneelength, did nothing to detract from the picture. I wished always to be able to lift one of these little numbers a bit and touch the warmth of the thigh and the back of the knee, but I never did, for we are trained, are we not, to leave the beautiful alone and not stick our hands and fingers where they are not wanted? Keep your hand out of plackets, selah. 

         You can have all the butts I have ever seen in River Heights. As far as I am concerned, they none of them interest me. Take them. They are yours. Enjoy. All too soon our lives are over. I concede them to you, every one, and wish you the best with them that can be. God speed. Uncover them as you will, taste them as fully and as often as you wish, make a pig of yourself in their presence, I will not be offended. Spank them in play as well, if you are so inclined. They offer themselves to you that way by their very station. Have them sit, stand, walk, slide, boogey for you and giv 'er hell. Bon voyage, my fellow pilgrim.