This is a true story.
I was with a crowd of people the day I lost my butt. I searched everywhere for my butt. In desperate need of a butt, I clasped my two hands over a stranger’s butt, imitated pulling off her butt, and then I tried to fit her butt onto my butt. But her butt wouldn’t stay on me. When the stranger asked, “How does my butt fit?” I responded, “Too small.” And with a frown, I sighed, shrugged my shoulders, hung my head low, and gave her back her butt.
As I walked in embarrassment without at butt, I covered the place my butt had been with my hands. Sometimes I slid across the floor to hide my missing butt or I squatted down and walked low to the ground. When I sat, I placed my hands beneath me on the chair to protect the skin where my butt had been. Other times I sat on my knees.
Off and on for an hour, I searched for my butt. One time I asked the crowd, “Have you seen my butt?”
I looked under my chair for my butt. I looked in corners and underneath people’s legs for my butt. Later, in desperation, I found a microphone, and again asked, “Has anyone seen my butt?”
No one had seen my butt.
After we left the crowd, and returned home, for weeks my three sons, and sometimes my husband, would peer from around the corner, at random intervals, and ask, “Where’s your butt?” One day my family gathered together on the couch to view the recording of the day I lost my butt.
It didn’t matter where I went in our home. I could be sitting on the toilet, climbing the stairs, or cooking dinner, and someone in our house would ask, “Where’s your butt?”
I will always remember the day I lost my butt.
My butt is back now. My butt actually never disappeared. I only thought my butt had vanished. In reality I’d been hypnotized on stage to believe my butt was stolen.
I believe at times we all think we’ve lost our butts, or at least we believe we’ve lost a portion of ourselves. Many of us think an essential part of us is missing or lacking. We believe we aren’t worthy, aren’t enough, aren’t special, and aren’t lovable; when in actuality we came into the world fully equipped with everything we need. Our butts are firmly attached.
Nothing is missing and nothing has been taken away. We are worthy, we are enough, we are special, we are lovable, but we forget. When we think we are lacking that is like our mind tricking us into think we have no butt. When we think we are lacking, we walk the world like our butts are missing. We hang our heads low, we hide, we search, we ask, we fear and worry.
We trick ourselves. We hypnotize ourselves into thinking we are lacking when everything is right there where it is supposed to be. All we have to do is to reach down and grab our gifts. They are right there waiting.
So the next time you find yourself lacking, remember the story of the lady who lost her butt. Think of her standing on stage, speaking into a microphone and asking, “Has anyone seen my butt?” That is exactly what you are doing when you are searching for your worthiness.
Don’t ever think you’ve lost your butt.
Your worthiness is firmly attached to you.
Now get out there and shake your booty!
The answer for yesterday’s post was number 9. Number 9 was the fiction.
Number 9 was a little bit true. The object was a tampon that flew across the cafeteria and hit someone in the head, but I ducked, covered, and ran before anyone knew I was the culprit. No one picked it up and handed it to me.
Don’t feel bad, my husband guessed the wrong one.
For those that guessed number 7, you were close. I could have worded that fact more clearly. I did review 100 men, but I reviewed the recordings they left, then I called a couple dozen back. So, if you guessed that number, you get a free pass.
Everything else was true. Including Patty Hearst and the swimsuit model. Thanks for participating. I had a great time reading your lists.
Everyday Asperger's 
