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Make the Math Work

It occurred to me the other day all that is standing between me and a great body image is 12 inches.

I refer here to the area from my belly button to the bottom of my thighs, or at least the place where the cellulite diminishes. I obsessed about this region most of my life as I traveled up and down the scale.

Since my boob scare, I’ve put quite a bit of thought into the way I view my body vs. the way others see me. I’m at peace with most of my physical shell, most of the time. Until recently, my saggy girls perturbed the hell out of me, but I tell you, if doctors find me cancer-free, the three of us will rejoice with a new sense of emancipation.

The mere idea of living or dying with cancer made me stop and revisit my body and all I truly have in which to be thankful. There’s nothing like being reminded of the fragility of life to give my flabby batwings perspective. So, that leaves me with 12 inches, which encompass my gut, butt and thighs.

Those who know me are fully aware that math is not my game, but I wanted to detach a bit and look at this issue from a statistical point of view. I’m 5’7 1/2” – don’t ever forget that half inch, which translates to 67.5 inches. This means that the troublesome spot comprises 17% of my entire body, which is carefully camouflaged from the general population 88% of the time in the summer, and probably 99.5% when bathing suit season concludes.

Even at my largest, no one ever stopped me on the street to tell me I looked like a circus freak, and Lyle has always accepted me for who I was…even when I was a whole lot more than I am now. So, that just leaves me. Seventeen percent of my body gives me grief, but let’s consider the bright side – that gives me with 83% that I coexist with quite nicely. The sidebar being I really only see that 17% in the morning after a shower and when I change into my jammies at night.

Why do I lament over the 12 inches when it is really such an insignificant piece of my life? In clothes that flatter, I feel pretty good. It’s only when wearing something that pulls across my ass or when I’m trying to find a good deal on a pair of pants that I fixate about the stupid 12 inch dilemma.

I’m sure there are other women in the world who share my disproportion between the waist and thighs. I need to do one of two things, find the perfect pants or a cheap tailor. I think I may also need to clean out my closet and discard all the clothes I bought on sale that I thought I could make work since they were cheap. Bargain hunting has not proven to be my best friend in this situation.

Perhaps the best deal would be to find a way to accept myself for all that I am – even the dimply butt! I gotta find that place. I’ll keep searching, and if anyone has any pointers, ante up.


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