So, I mentioned that I’d be doing this whole Self Challenge thing to a friend, and she said “Cool, so what’s your goal?”
Oh, I need a goal, I hadn’t gotten that far. Surviving seemed like a good enough goal to me. Let’s see, I’m at the high end of a “normal” weight range for height, I could probably stand to loose a few pounds. But, in all honestly, I’m pretty comfortable with my curves. I’m within a few pounds from boob-shrinking territory. I know that once I go under a certain weight, my boobs vanish. Bi-golly, I really like my boobs. I’m also pretty happy with the fact that I somehow have a butt. My parents are not the most bootilicious of couples, so the fact that I was endowed with junk-in-the-trunk has always been a source of pride for me. This is quite the conundrum. Hmmm. So what should my goal be?
Well, one of my earliest memories was hanging out with my grandmother, and playing with her underarm fat. I thought it was the COOLEST THING EVER!!! I’m sure she did not find my fascination quite as enjoyable.
If she were still alive, I would apologize, and tell her: “Grandma, I feel your pain.” I seem to have inherited the body quandry I found most fascinating as a child-Jiggly Under Arms. Honestly, the idea of a 3-year old latching on to it and playing with it, seems like quite possibly a valid excuse for infanticide. All I can say is, my grandmother must have really loved me, because I would not be quite as kind as she was.
So that’s my goal. By June I will have some sexy arms. Watch out Linda Hamilton, I’m going sleeveless!