READER: Are we really going to have to read another post about your oversized derriere? ME: I can't believe you went there! READER: Are we really not going there? ME: This could totally be a post about the GF king cake I made for our Mardi GrOscar party on Sunday. It was unintentionally sugar free, so I'm pretty sure there's a story in there. READER: I'm not buying it. We're going to have to read about your butt. ME: You are now, jerk. But not really, because this isn't quite about my butt. Well, tangently, it's about my butt. If it wasn't abundantly clear, I don't like it. That's all the more that really needs to be said on the subject. That's the thing this whole story hinges on: things girls don't like about themselves. And by girls, I pretty much mean my girl, who I truly thought was too young to have preferences about her looks. Too young, or perhaps too beautiful. Up until Mardi GrOscar day, I was actua