t a recent show, I was watching a video of my round in super slo-mo to analyze (and self-deprecate over) every part of my ride, as one does. As I slid my finger across the video bar on the bottom of my iPhone, I saw what no rider ever wants to see. A slight FUPA, on my body, as I was landing from an oxer. I nearly dropped my phone in disgust.
Now, despite my degree in English and the incessant, “You want to be a teacher, right?” questions, I have never and will never have any interest in standing at the front of a classroom, So, if you don’t know what a FUPA is, don’t expect me to tell you right here, right now. Look it up on Urban Dictionary and come right back. I’ll wait.
There was a show on Disney Channel that I often watched as a kid that told the story of a family of geometrically-shaped robots that lived in a teapot house (whoever wrote the show was clearly on a lot of drugs). Rolie Polie Olie was cute and innocent and a rather distant memory of my childhood, but as soon as I became aware of my FUPA, I realized with horror that I am none other than Olie Polie himself. Looking at a picture of him is like looking in the mirror.
On animated characters, the FUPA looks almost chic in a way that real life and breeches could never make happen. There’s just something about riding attire that makes my body look like a lump of hardened Play-Doh mixed with Pooh Bear. Is it due to gravity? Partially. Is it due to the skin-tight, unforgiving fabrics used for breeches? Mostly.
If you read the headline of this article and thought, “Wow, someone finally said it!”, I’m glad I could be that person for you. I’m just doing my adult amateur duty. And, listen, at the end of the day, Olie Polie is cute as a button so I guess there are worse characters to resemble.