"Tick Ties" or Thighs wide shut

I, like most women of a certain age, have a love/hate relationship with my body. well, more of a hate/hate one.  It seems as if I was evicted from the womb and into the gym, always searching for the perfection that didn't exist.  Most of my adolescence  was spent trying to prevent puberty and curves from settling in and squatting on my property.  All the kickboxing, lunges and spin classes could not fight my genetics.  I was consigned to a life of va va voom rather than va va vogue. Everytime I went for the couture, I felt as displaced as Janet Reno at a Miss Universe casting call. The misogynistic and autocratic designers, most of whom had lyrical names that further exacerbated my awkwardness and insecurities, had decreed starvation.  I tried it, but was way too cranky. This post is not about clocks or menswear, but is an homage to my thighs.  I figure everyone can relate to embracing the attribute they most hate about themselves.  In my case it is my "thick thighs".

Attending an all girls' religious school,  I was forbidden to wear revealing attire or pants. Long skirts camouflaged my sensitive areas along with the books I shlepped wherever I went. There were always strategically placed items that I carried as I walked on a slant to avoid a pear-shaped silhouette.  I was probably a bit delusional, but when a zaftig girl accused me of being 'big' in the thigh area, I was determined to pummel away the fat, even if I had to resort to an eating disorder. which of course I did. Food was the enemy, the gym my refuge and thus began a lifetime fixation.  I got rid of my dimples, but gained an unhealthy obsession and self-loathing of myself and my body.  I am not negating the benefits of diet and exercise, but our society lauds an unrealistic goal of thinness, which causes healthy and beautiful girls and women to continuously harm themselves.  I attempted to convince myself, many times, that my inner beauty and intelligence was more important, but it would have been easier to get the cast of the Jersey Shore to pledge sobriety and celibacy.  The cycle was continuous. My self-esteem completely correlated with the size of my thighs. The smaller they got the better I felt.

Fast forward through years at Crunch, Equinox, NY Sports Club, Pumping Iron and too many dance, yoga and Pilates studios to count, coupled with childbirth, divorce,  death and single motherhood, my  stubborn thigh-wide issues survived it all.  It was time to finally achieve the impossible and shut down my femur fixation.  My only other option was relocating to an obscure part of Africa, where thunderous thighs are deified, celebrated and desired, but I didn't know if they had an "aliyah" center there.  I decided to avoid any conversation, insinuation or attention to "said" area and followed my parent's mantra of "don't ask, don't tell" and "avoid, avoid, avoid". Yes, my parents originated the "DADT" policy way before the military during Clinton's administration. A little-known morsel of trivia.

After decades of the war between myself and my anatomy, I declared a peaceful coexistence with my thighs, sort of like East and West Berlin during the communist era.  It did not work.  I needed to embrace my imperfections, take my thighs out for dinner, drinks or at least a movie and fall in love with myself and my "stems".  Ironically, when  I would be working out, men would comment on how they adored my legs...go Figure!!

Recently,  I paid a "shiva call" to a close friend's apartment in the city. Usually, it is a somber and silent environment where the bereaved are comforted by the presence of all those that have known them throughout their lives.  I was standing in the kitchen when a striking west Indian woman loudly commented on my beauty and resemblance to a film actress.  I was taken aback by this because it was unexpected and inappropriate considering the occasion.  I was flattered, but also a bit uncomfortable, so in a self-deprecating manner I began to tell her that I couldn't afford to pay her any longer so she could "cease and desist" the compliments. Ignoring me, she began to critique my body from head to heel, dissect it and has probably began writing her dissertation on it.  "You have a beautiful face and body and nice and healthy thighs"! She might have said "juicy", but I heard "thick" which sounded like "tick" to me.  I felt stripped of all pride and all my insecurities surfaced.  I scolded myself for my stupidity and superficiality, but I saw this as a final resolution to my insecurity.  "Yes" I replied.  I love my thighs!