I’ll never forget the moment when I first saw you.
There you were, shining like a golden beacon from the rafters of American Apparel; nestled in between a photo of someone’s pubic hair and a shirtless factory worker riding a toy horse. The spotlight was centered on you, the LCD Soundsystem song was playing for you, every albino mannequin was pointing at you. In your shiny lamé glory you asserted, “Come to me Lauren. I am the one.”
Others came before you, but I wasn’t ready to accept their love then.
You came along at a time when I needed you most. I was downtrodden by heavy purses. You’ve made my life easier, more carefree. We go dancing and I don’t have to worry about you. There you are, clutched to my hip like a babe suckling its mother’s breast. My arms free to make a complete ass of myself as I dance alone, convinced that I’m the best Michael Jackson dancer this side of the Mississippi.
But I’m never alone when I’m with you, F- Pack.
You’re always there for me. We go to the library and small kids point and laugh at us, and there you are, brazen and strong, never ashamed of our love. We go grocery shopping and there you are, ready to hand me cash for our nightly Boone’s and greek yogurt. We go biking and there you are, ready to hand me Advil and the tiniest flask of water as I discover my knees are too weak to handle repetitive movement.
You are my legs, F to the Anny, P to the Ack.
I would go spelunking with you if we could. I mean, I guess we could? Do you want to go spelunking sometime, Fanny? Will you be my life spelunker?
Remember that time we both sat in our underwear and watched Purple Rain on loop over a three day weekend? You held my white cheddar Cheezits while I disapprovingly shook a snow-dipped cheesy finger at the screen every time Appolonia opened her mouth. That was fun, Fan-Pac-Man. I have so much fun with you!
And at the end of the day, Fa Pa, you are there to cuddle on my stomach as I drift off to a dreamland where sparkling outdated clothing accessories are accepted and appreciated.
I appreciate you, Fanny.
Fanny Pack, I don’t know what I’d do without you. In the short time that we’ve known each other, you’re already starting to show some wear and tear. Your glistening lamé cracking with the elements. Please don’t leave me, FP . You’re the only thing I’ve got! You and that bottle of Boone’s.
Your One and Only Hip.