Hat, romper, shoes, and thunder thighs. Whatever.
My poor brother.
One day, as our family gathered on my parents’ back porch in the summer, he dared to jokingly say something about my thunder thighs. He didn’t mean any harm by it; he was only lovingly teasing me.
But I’d heard about it enough in high school, especially as a cheerleader who had to wear a cheer outfit to school twice a week, and those old wounds hadn’t mended. I suppose even in my early 30s, I was still sensitive when hearing my legs referred to in that way.
I leveled him.
Of course, I’m sorry for it now. I should have been able to laugh it off, make fun of myself, and just accept that I have pretty strong, muscular legs. I always have. I played tennis, did gymnastics, and cheered.
Fast forward to now, many, many years later.
With age comes wisdom. I am older, wiser, and more confident now, even if I still wish I had been born with long legs and was 5’5″ instead of 5’1″. When you hit a certain number as you age, you just don’t give a $$$$ any more what anyone thinks; you become less self-conscious, and you wear what makes you happy.
I like fashion a lot, enjoy clothes and putting outfits together, and being trendy. I bought the outfit above yesterday, and I can’t wait to wear it, big legs and all.
You get smarter. You accept yourself, and you learn to love yourself and all your imperfections.
And if ever once upon a time you called me “thunder thighs,” I forgive you.
