It happened in 6th grade. I had a conversation with one of my very best friends (still is) wherein I moaned about the size of my thighs. I was eleven. Ever the diplomat, my friend wished that hers (athletic, Korean, perfect) were more curvy.
When did bodyparts become an issue? Sure, I said it out loud at eleven, but when did that switch go off? When did I even notice that thighs were supposed to look a certain way? I don't remember the exact moment but I don't think there is one single woman who is immune to it.
But oh, look at these babies. Chubby and gorgeous, I'm already sad for the moment that she'll start resenting them.
I solemnly swear to do my very best to make sure that you, Alice Ruth, will appreciate your delicious haunches as long as you possibly can.
And that goes for you, too.
Although if Liliane sticks to her current plan of becoming a ninja (Un ninja fille, Maman. Avec du rose et du rouge.) I don't think we'll have to worry.
Up tomorrow: Get ready for some good old fashioned schadenfreude, my friends. SOMEONE around here isn't sleeping quite as well as they usually do.
Up tomorrow: Get ready for some good old fashioned schadenfreude, my friends. SOMEONE around here isn't sleeping quite as well as they usually do.
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| Who, me? |
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