This is a new column, everyone. Hello and welcome to it. It exists to celebrate things that maybe don’t seem like that big a deal but which are, if you think about it, a really freaking big deal. Under-appreciated, quietly great things. Its goal is to celebrate the mundane and the extraordinary that we interact with every day—the things that make me really and truly and non-ironically feel HASHTAG BLESSED. Do not be afraid of sincerity, people. Let’s dive in.

The early 2000s were a dark time. A time of extreme low-rises. A time of chunky highlights. A time of denim-on-denim-on-denim. Many of us suffered, but none more than our butts. Specifically, the cracks. Unprotected, left to die alone and exposed, most of us spent the entirety of grades seven through ten reaching one or both hands back to feel our lower back area for rogue cracks, only to discover that OF COURSE they had been exposed to the farther half of our math class the entire time. I was no exception. There is no way to know for sure how many innocent victims saw more than their fair share of my pudgy fourteen year old butt crack, but early estimates put the figures in the hundreds if not thousands, depending on what really happened that one time during that play.

One day Parasuco, Diesel and their cronies will pay for their heinous crimes (crimes of fashion, crimes of puberty, crimes of rhinestones), but until then I cannot help but look around today and feel #blessed as hell. I have a pair of jeans that touch my bra if i’m not wearing a shirt. (Yo 2002 me, you get over hating bras and are real good buddies with them now, plus it’s not embarrassing for you every time it’s cold! #itgetsbetter) (#titgetsbetter) Do you know how safe and secure that makes a lady from the aughties feel? Good god. Good 9″ zippered, triple-pocketed god. I will have none of your talk about Mom Butt or FUPA or whatever other garbage you are trying to throw at us to replace “muffin top” and “just having most of your butt out all the time.” This is better. It is so much better.

Now, it’s not a requirement for success or happiness or love or swag that you dress in a way that other people consider stylish. In a lot of ways it’s kind of gauche. But can I just say how much easier it is to find pants I both can and want to wear these days? I don’t care if a million little teens who are cooler at 15 than I am at 25 are also wearing these pants, or if my mom is wearing these pants, or if her mom is wearing these pants. If you ask me it just means we are making a good decision together. God bless us, everybum. And god bless whatever mysterious fashion cadre watched an episode of Saved by the Bell and thought “miss u.” The butts of the 2010s are truly #blessed.