Thursday, March 17, 2011
I have big thighs. I do. Big thighs, big hips and big legs, too. And it doesn't really matter what size I am. My bottom half is big when I am a size 8. It is big when I am a size 22. It is big when I run every day and the same when I am in winter couch potato mode. This is how I am made--big on bottom. And I had this "A-ha Moment" today about the bigitude of my below: I have always felt self-conscious about wearing some dresses, because my juicy thighs prevent me from pressing my knees together as is "ladylike." And I need to get over it.
Flashback: It's June 1987 and I'm graduating from high school. I'm graduating third in my class, in fact--an accomplishment that earns me a spot on the dais, where I try really hard to press my legs together tightly, uncomfortably crossing and uncrossing. After the ceremony, my mother shares that a woman (who, in hindsight must have been a raging bitch) said to her, "You must be so embarrassed." I didn't flash anyone. My drawers were well covered by dress, hosiery and gown. The dress was not a mini, but even knee-length dresses ride up when you're juicy. My sin was that my knees parted, despite all my effort, and that, apparently, at least to one woman, was of more note than a 4.0+ GPA. This has been my memory of my high school graduation day for more than 20 years.