fun post on her blog right now about how all the body parts she thinks of as her favorites are changing as she ages — though her elbows, a previous un-favorite, are actually improving. This amused me and also made me think: Which of my parts are my favorites? Have they always been and are they still? Which are my un-favorites?
After some reflection, I decided that my favorite body part was my brain.
No, I picked my hair — which I would not have picked in my youth. I came of age in the day of Dorothy Hamill and Farrah Fawcett-Majors, and I hated my bushy flyaway rough-textured hair that would not feather, no matter how much mousse and blow-drying I threw at it. But my hair is great now, partly due to the bossy-ness of Mrs. Cynicletary, who forced me to give up my beloved (cheap) Super Cuts and find a good stylist. But oh what a difference a good cut makes. I love being able to wash my hair, work in some product, wiggle it with my fingers, and be good to go. I still do the hot-roller thing for special occasions, but I can go years without touching a blow dryer.
And I love being a redhead — again, something I would not have said during my youth as a shy, introverted kid. But having hair that drew so much attention forced me out of my shell and played a huge role in the charming and charismatic persona I currently sport.
Red hair and drama class. Those were the culprits. And possibly boobs.
I love my big blue eyes, the near-hairlessness of my legs, my pretty feet with their high arches, my hourglass shape, my thin forearms, my height, and the shape of my mouth. These things have been my favorites all my life, I think.
I hate my giant thighs, the huge purple bump right at my hairline, the fact that my eyes are always red no matter how much sleep I get, and the yellowish cast to my teeth despite copious use of Crest White Strips (my coffee consumption thwarts me, I fear).
So, that's my rundown.
Today's exercise was a 40-minute morning walk after dropping off my car in Arlington Center. I love my car guy, he is very flirty, and it only cost me twenty bucks. And I got exercise! (I also did core work on my bed while Husband read me something, so we were both satisfied.) But now I'm drinking many glasses of Lemon-Basil Sangria, because it just fits my mood, so we'll see what my weight is tomorrow.
Tomorrow I walk with Mimosa while she runs, and I also lift weights and do the dreaded Plank. And then I have lunch with Mrs. Cynicletary and dinner with Sister Hart the Elder and Blogger Dawn! Nothin' but good times ahead.
Wow, this sangria is potent! It must be all the hard liquor I add to it. (A woman on the Maud List corrected my use of the word "cocktail" to describe my sangria, as "a cocktail MUST contain hard liquor," she informed me.)
Is what I nicely refrained from replying.
But I thought it.