Let's pause for a moment.

I'm going to fast-forward to the present for this post and pause my story so I can illustrate a point.

I'm 5'5", about 127-130 pounds (give or take, it depends on a gazillion factors.), and my size varies widely depending on the make or brand of clothing. Generally, I'm like most women in my family: small on top and larger on bottom. When I buy a pair of jeans, I know it's a good pair when it makes my thighs look slimmer and, most of all, when I can't shove two forearms down the back. While I'm on the subject? Yo, denim companies: DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. It's bullshit how I have to buy a pair of jeans two sizes larger because of my hips and you mistakenly believe that women's waists and hips are congruent.

News flash: the average American woman is 5'4" and 145 pounds. STOP MARKETING TO US AS IF WE'RE 5'10" AND 120 POUNDS. There is no reason on God's green earth why inseams on designer jeans need to begin at 33". I'm dead serious. Well, unless you subsidize Nordstrom's tailoring department.

But, I digress.

I have a little "pillow" of flesh around my belly button, and a perfectly-shaped roll of fat that resembles an inner tube around the top of each thigh, making them resemble something like a chicken drumstick. My thighs rub together when I walk. And every time I have tried to rid myself of them, I look emaciated everywhere else, but the roll remains. Society tells me it doesn't belong there, so, what can I do? And, stack that up against now-aging, thin body skin that has begun to slacken a bit, giving the front and back of my legs a puffier, uneven appearance? I couldn't win. Fighting biology became a hobby.

It was only tonight that I tried to think about my best physical attributes. It's funny to think that I've never once considered it. However, I came up with a few things:

1) I work very hard on my skin. As an aesthetician, it was/is practically my job. I had terrible skin growing up, and I've taken painstaking care to protect it.

2) My teeth are, thanks to braces and retainers, straight, bright, and white---which has always bode well for my cheesy grin.

3) I've taken great care of my feet, as well. They may be small, but I've respected them. As a result, I may not be able to wear sexy stilettos or squeeze them into pointy kitten heels: however, they aren't mangled by bunions, corns, or hammertoes. They look smooth and young, unlike the rest of my family.

This begs the question, though: at any time, during the last 20 years, did I care about these things?

A RESOUNDING 'NO'.

Amazingly enough, I have taken each and every one of these things for granted. Case in point: I had horrible acne from approximately 7th grade through age 21. I had both dermatologists and endocrinologists helping me. I did everything short of Accutane to help my situation, and the only reason why I declined was because my mom was too afraid of it; it was too new, and its effects on the body weren't well-known yet. I was on every tetracycline, topical antibiotic gels, and incredibly strong benzoyl peroxide lotions that would soon bleach my skin. I remember in the 8th grade trying to bargain with the Lord---not asking for another thing, ever, if I could have skin like those girls in school who never had to worry about it. I finally attained it--(nearly!) spotless skin, but after Fat mattered, every other thing ceased to.

Such was my point.