Now that my part of the world is warming up it'll soon be shorts weather and once again I can introduce everyone to my cellulite.
When I was all of nineteen years old I gave birth to my first baby. Before pregnancy I weighed a sprightly 110 pounds. At the end I'd gained a rough fifty pounds all on my backside. My pregnancy cravings provided a counter-weight to keep me from falling over on my face. I lost all the weight easily enough afterwards...because, hello, I was nineteen!... but I'd earned lovely deep purple stretch marks on most of my body and my first ripply swaths of cellulite on the backs of my thighs.
Since then I've had two more babies who aren't babies anymore. They are old enough to spell and pronounce the word cellulite. One is still young enough to not realize he shouldn't point it out when he sees it or to ask why my skin looks like cold oatmeal.
I'm not saying what I weigh now. Shuddup.
What I am saying is that when you've got cellulite, you might as well admit it, because wearing long pants in Nevada desert heat is bound to cause uncomfortable girl issues. Issues I won't be pointing out for you even though I really want to.
I really really want to post photo examples.
Instead, I'll curb that urge and research self tanning lotions on Amazon.
Because, while my thighs may have dimples, they are that unsightly shade of bright white that can cause cataracts.
I pick my beauty battles and fashion choices on rashes and public safety. No matter how orange I get, at least I won't itch or blind anyone.
Monday, April 29, 2013
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