Every marching band season, I got to look at my calves become tone and tan. All those months of marching on my platforms sure paid off.
But, something that I couldn’t ever seem to understand was the lack of tone-ness that my thighs would get.
How tone have they ever been you ask?
Never.
Yep,
They’ve never been toned
I don’t know why.
I guess it was just a curse from the thunder gods
Like every time I would go shopping
(and oh my god do I love shopping),
I would have to go one, two, sometimes three sizes up from my waist length because these damn thighs couldn’t fit into practically anything.
So, even to this day, I wear pants that are super tight in the thigh region and hella big everywhere else
And I hate belts so it’s very problematic.
Nonetheless, I have concluded that my thighs have to be big.
They’ve balanced textbooks when my hands were too weak
They’ve tried concealer because lesbihonest — they’re the lightest part of my body
They’ve kept my hands warm in the winter
They’ve become a pillow to my friends during hard times
They’re a place where my hands rest
And, most importantly, these thighs...
Yes, these thighs can bounce my rambunctious three-year-old niece up and down as she maniacally laughs
(TBH I don’t know whether to be frightened or enamored (but, between me and you, I’m more frightened than anything))
And making that little human in my life laugh until her whole body looks like a tomato can’t ever be a curse from any thunder god
Written as a body-positive exercise during Seminar by the Sea, a gender studies course in Maine!