November is built a lot like the Dudley Doo Right cartoon. About 4 feet of torso and two feet of legs. He could easily be mistaken for a troll doll because of his hair, but Dudley Doo Right is much more comparable to his proportions.

I didn’t notice this strange alottment of body parts until he pointed it out to me.

“I have back problems anyway because I’m all torso,” he said.

“Ohmigod, you are all torso,” I said. “I never even noticed before. Jesus, how the hell do you even hold yourself up?”

He looks like he needs some sort of external support beam installed.

I texted him about it one morning after some drunken shenanigans the night before.

“I never realized how funny looking you are,” I wrote. “You and your ten-foot-long torso.”

“So that’s what you were thinking about when you woke up, was it?” he asked. “How funny looking I am?”

Pretty much, yeah. I was thinking about this little jig he had danced on the sidewalk the night before and thought, “Shit, he’s a funny-looking kid.”

“Oh yeah?” he said to me a few days later. “Well your ass is the equivalent of my ten-foot-long torso.”

The thing is, that was a compliment.

I’ve been told this before, about my ass. That it is sort of in a class of it’s own, separate from my other appendages. That it stands out, if you will. I’ve never fully embraced this opinion of my ass. I grew up in the United States of Skinny. We don’t embrace big asses here.

“Oh my,” I said to him. “I think I need to make a huge mental shift. (as I has only used it for such things as sitting, etc. Purely functional as opposed to extra-curricular.) (That’s a lie, I have used it extra-curricularly) I feel as though I need to start thinking differently about my ass. I never realized it was so significant.”

“Yup,” he said.

An ass of consequence, if you will.