We were carrying bags of groceries home tonight in the cold, as the sun was going down. Waiting to cross Commonwealth Avenue, we stood behind a group of four people with two little boys.
Our attention was drawn to the young woman carrying the smaller boy. She was casually dressed in a cropped leather jacket and flared olive-green stretch pants, which flattered her unusually long, slender legs. Her hair was scraped back in a messy bun. But what riveted our attention was her backside. I don't usually pay much attention to women's derrieres, but I like to think I have a semi-trained art-historical eye these days, and I couldn't help noticing this one. It was amazing. Tiny, rounded and high, above those equally unusual thighs... all quite perfect, in fact.
I dragged my eyes away from it to look at the man who had the bigger boy on his shoulders. He turned and, sure enough, there was a chin dimple and a familiar smile. Tom Brady. I whispered to my husband, who was still mesmerized by the stretch pants, "Is that who I think it is?" He looked up, and a great smile spread across his face.
I'd expected them to look taller, but we were on the sidewalk and they were a few inches below us, on the street. I think Tom's sister and maybe her husband (?) were with them. The adults were talking with little Jack, up high on his dad's broad shoulders, and they were clearly enjoying what he was saying and each other. It was a very pleasant scene, whether they were famous or not.
Usually, at this particular traffic light, I try to calculate how many months of my life I've wasted waiting for it to change. This time, I didn't.
We walked silently behind them after the light changed, and admired what was likely the best-looking famous couple in America (and the world's most valuable and profitable backside). They turned onto the Mall to let Jack race with his dad and brother. They seemed like a perfectly happy Boston family.
This was an exciting moment for my husband, a lifelong Patriots fan who never spotted these neighbors before. He frequently complained about this when our dog-owning friends reported sightings. I always say that it would help if we had a dog to walk on the Esplanade, where the Brady Bündchen are known to hang out.
I've also suggested that we could walk Possum on the Esplanade. He could certainly use more exercise. Possum is also a Patriots' fan (as is Snalbert) but he doesn't care about seeing celebrities in person. And he insists that his backside is even cuter than Gisele's. (It's a matter of opinion, but he is as devastating from the back as from the front, at least to my art-historical eye.) But he says he's not going out walking on some stupid dog leash with us if that's what we have in mind. (He still wants that rickshaw.)