I’m trying to think of a body part that I like. We women are always told that we’re too critical of our bodies, and in theory, I agree. Each of us is formed the same, and yet so differently. We have the trunk, two legs, two arms, two hands with five fingers on each. Two feet and ten toes, and then, of course, there’s the head.
Oh, is my hair a body part?
I guess not. Darn. But the statement is false anyway. As a teenager, I hated my hair: too thick and curly. As an adult, I love just those attributes, particularly as I hear friends complain about their thinning hair as they watch strands slink down their shower drains.
The neck is getting gooselike. I remember reading Nora Ephron’s book I Feel Bad about My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman. I was rather happy as I read her lament, since I didn’t really believe it would happen to me – the shriveling and wrinkling of my neck. Well, who’s getting the last laugh now?
My toes buckle with arthritis and my knees are swollen at times from overuse.
How about my fingers, my belly, my scalp? Um, noooooooo.
My fingers look alien-like with their creased knuckles and fingernails that are always begging for a manicure. My belly – ACK! – puffy and pudgy.
[I could never flatten my stomach even as a teenager – unless I lay on my back in bed. I used to pull up my tight jeans that way (after I read a book in which the 20-year-old character wore her tightest jeans by lying in bed and slowly inching them over her hips and zipping them over her flattened belly.) It worked. But trying to stand up as stiff as an ironing board from the prone position was not a pretty picture.]
Perhaps I should thank my scalp more often.
Most photos thanks to Google Images. Except the hair. The hair’s all mine.