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Consider This

By LC Van Savage

Venus Williams

Must we be forced to go through our entire lives without ever knowing the proper pronunciation of “buttocks”? I mean come on, it’s gotten to the point where I have to avoid using the word altogether in case I offend someone by mispronouncing it. So annoying.

You know how it is; you go to a cocktail party with the local literati and the subject of the human derrière comes up as it always does, and because you want to sound all erudite and lettered and everything you try to fake the pronunciation or you have to cough loudly into your hand when the word starts to come out of your mouth because you don’t wish to embarrass yourself. So, let’s settle this right here and now; is it butt-OX or butt-IX? Frankly I vote for ix. It’s how I was raised. It’s how one says it if one was born in New York. I have buttix. Two of them. What do you have? Ox or ix, it’s the same thing, right? Hind end; cheeks; heinie; backside; butt; butterino; the a-word; can; haunch; rump, tush. It’s what we sit on. It’s what men look at, yes you do too, and it’s what women look at, yes you do too, especially if those buttocks are being sashayed about by a ripped and buff young lifeguard.

You know where I’m going with this, right? I knew you’d know; Venus Williams and her now famous flashing buttox or buttix. Yes, our Venus has really done it this time. I mean talk about shocking! But personally for me, I am not shocked. I cheer her on. Is it nice or polite to insolently flip one’s backside at a live tennis audience and a TV audience of countless millions while wearing a skin-tight, skin-colored thong that at first glance looks as if there’s nothong there at all? Well, probably not, but I say, “you GO girl!”

Venus and her equally talented athletic sister Serena have flown in the face of conventional tennis cultural rules, at least the antediluvian rules of my youth. As a kid I was forced to take tennis lessons every Saturday in the summers on broiling hot clay courts that burned through my Keds, wearing pure white everything, no danger of my ix or ox showing because the shorts were white, thick and to the knees. After those Tennis Lessons from Hell, no easy thing for me an uncoordinated clod, was then, am now, we then had to shower and get dressed up in proper young lady garb which meant gartered stockings, girdles, hot underpinnings, dresses, high heels, gloves and sometimes even hats, and sit through Tennis Teas from Hell which of course never served tea to people of color, oh no, although people of color were actually there. As staff. These affairs were dreadful, each table womanned fore and aft by a chosen dowager who poured tea from a great silver pot balanced and tipping forward on some kind of balanced and tipping forward thing. Heaven forbid milady should pick the teapot up off the table in her gloved hand and pour the stuff.

We young ladies had to counterbalance a cup of that hated liquid with a couple of petits four on another tiny plate along with a small linen napkin and it was unthinkable that we spill a drop or leave a single crumb anywhere. I’ve often wondered what doing that trained us for in our future lives but I just can’t think of anything save for showing off doing party balancing tricks in our old age for people who aren’t in the least interested. The only fun of those awful tea times was when my best friend Sally and I would sidle up to those tables and cram as many of those little cakes into our mouths as was humanly possible without choking and without getting caught. With a nostalgic smile I remember once when Sal suddenly sneezed and sprayed Lady Dowager’s large flowered hat with a Jackson Pollack array of various colored icings. It was just plain lovely. What a glorious moment. That good woman pulled in a very tiny, sharp breath but never wavered for an instant from her pouring chores. What a thoroughbred.

So you see, Venus Williams is a personal heroine of mine. A goddess! What a magnificent woman, and what a glorious athlete. She is everything I never could or would be. I love her. I love her sister Serena. I love that they and a few others before them have broken down those stupid color barriers about only white folks being permitted to play tennis. Oh, those sisters! And not only that, they do not wear boring Whites, but instead trot out onto the courts in colorful, sexy outfits. And guess what else? While pulverizing their opponents, the girls sweat and grunt loudly just like male tennis players do. How deliciously shocking.

So Venus, to push the boundaries even farther, gets herself a pair of skin-tight skin-colored see-through bloomer thongs, and at the French Open in Paris last May 24th, blasts out one fabulous ace of a serve and whammo, it becomes the serve seen ‘round the world! There it is, or maybe I mean they are, her buttox or buttix flashing the TV world and the shocked and enraptured live audience while she thrilled everyone with her powerful, slamming tennis game. Oh my, what a woman! The heads of that game’s viewers in the stands that sunny day were not turning left and right in unison as the tennis ball roared back and forth over the net. Looked to me as if their fascinated faces seemed pretty much focused on Venus Williams’ bottom and frankly we all know that Venus totally enjoyed displaying her tennis assets.

Oh how fervently I wish the old buzzards at those hideous, racist, awful, seriously restricted country club tennis teas were still alive to see the Glorious Williams girls do their stuff on the world-wide tennis courts of today. If any of us girls back then during our tennis lessons had had the cheek to flash just one inch of our ox or ix we’d have been sent to tennis purgatory for life.

But hey, if I had a rock hard back-end like that, or rock hard everythings as Venus and Serena have, would I be tempted to display? You can bet the rent. So folks, how do you pronounce that part of your anatomy? Ox or Ix?

Email LC at
See her on “incredibleMAINE”
on Saturdays at 10:30 AM on MPBN.
Click on author's byline for bio.


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