My inner thighs caused the first argument between me and BatBeard. (I know, we are both volatile performer types and it took almost 2 years for us to have a harsh word match.)
I don’t know which of the preceding statements concerns me more. Clearly, my thighs have overwhelmed me to the point of hysteria. I have no idea why it suddenly flabbed a harsh response from me; my thighs have always been a problem. Every time I took them anywhere they would misbehave by causing discomfort in the leg crossing arena and were ridiculous when wedged into tights for some of the many productions I was cast in along with smaller thighed people.
One of my favorite productions, Godspell, was sullied by the presence of my thighs. I had lost a considerable amount of weight the semester before and was not happy when the production designer kept nixing my costume choices. My thighs refused to behave in tights or cotton bike shorts, but were subdued in black leggings. (I still maintain that my thighs were not nearly as focus pulling as another actor’s super round tummy on display in a black unitard or the rotund buns of still another actor whose wrap skirt let her globes peek out.
So suffice it to say, I have been annoyed with my thighs since 1990. I rarely think about them, but from time to time they pop up. I know my problem isn’t unique; there are a number of products aimed at the amply thighed. Many of us know the shame and stigma of Chub Rub (yes, this is a thing, and if you live in the South, it’s actually a nightmare.)
I don’t think about it often, but from time to time something just pushes me over the edge. This last week was tense. I have been especially overwhelmed, not just because of my job, but I am facing another long year of long distance romance and at the same time I am facing another spring in my leaky, foundation shifty house. (I am planning to get out of the house by October, so at least I will be slightly more comfortable in my long distance relationship.)
Anyway, my thighs were a bit chafy from a poor wardrobe choice and I was angry at my years of ignoring the fat and feeling less than attractive.
I let my negative thinking and my fat tell me I am unworthy and because of that I got into an argument about the wifi.
I can’t think which part of that is the most insane.
I’m not even sure why my thighs took over my brain to write this blog.
I’m sure there’s an answer, because after all, the thighs the limit.