I bought a pair of jeggings. Hey, they were on double clearance at Old Navy! Who can resist 50 percent off 50 percent off? Not I!

photo by CarrieLu	via PhotoRee

Upon arriving home, I discovered my new jeggings suffer from the same ailment as many of today's pants and jeans: Over-emphasis of the dreaded unnamed body part. It think it has to do with the low-rise trend. Back in the day (how I loathe that phrase), when the waistband of one's pants actually reached one's waist, the unnamed body part was concealed.

What is the unnamed body part? It's that part of the female physique between the buttocks and the waistline, stretching from the spine around to each side. It's not quite a "spare tire" or a "love handle" because it stubbornly refuses to change size or shape in spite of exercise or weight loss.

I believe it's a primitive leftover from pregnancy, a nifty little blubber pocket added in a primitive effort to prepare for potential famine while breastfeeding.

Genetic programming to sustain the next generation in the event of catastrophe. Cool.

The last baby I nursed is now 13 years old, and the last major broad-scale catastrophe in the U.S. was during the Dust Bowl.
Not. Cool.

In my estimation, if I'm going to continue owning this piece of anatomy, it needs a name.