I let them see the sun.
Don’t get me wrong; I love my thighs. They are sturdy and strong. They’ve given me a lifetime of uncomplaining service. They support me in even my most madcap schemes. But they’re so, shall I say, uncompromising in their breadth.
All right, all right, I do judge! These stalwart darlings are downright, well, pudgy. And maybe just the teensiest bit lumpy. And let us not forget that their color – a shade that would make the belly of the deepest-water fish swell with pride – kind of emphasizes those other. . . attributes. I confess that I have hidden them from the light of day for, oh, years.
But no more! If I’m going to bust my booty getting out and running around the neighborhood anyway, I might as well reveal all to anyone who might be glancing my way. Why should my shoulders get all the glory, rosying up under the sun’s caress while my poor unappreciated thighs smother under wraps? Why should my arms and back get to soak up all the vitamin D, just because they were born into a more elevated situation? It’s not fair; it’s not right!
So that’s it. Our days of hiding are over. From now on, like it or not, I’m wearing shorts.