Why was the nice lady pinching my upper thigh?
Or maybe more puzzling . . .
Why was the nice lady pinching my upper thigh and I was completely okay with it?
Don’t know how to start this other than I am embarrassed by my true feelings but I am always honest with you.
I told my trainer to measure me today because I wanted to track my progress in removing the cottage cheese from the back of my thighs.
That’s when the woman (my trainer) grabbed a hold of my leg and said, “This right here. This is all you’ve got to get rid of.”
You might as well have said Dennis Rodman negotiated Kim Jong-un’s appearance on the next Dancing with the Stars.
Getting rid of that mess in North Korea or on the back of my thighs — it ain’t gonna happen.
Unless I watch everything I eat and drink and workout four hours a day. Only people in the middle of a ragging mid-life crisis are able to get away with that boloney and I used up my midlife over-exercise chips about six years ago.
Pooh.
My lovely trainer pulled out a tape measure and wrapped it around the area in question on an angle. To get the full scope of the target.
This was a reenactment with my daughter taking the photo.
Okay. I was feeling pretty stupid at this point.
Even though bloggers are serious journalists and I was just trying to recreate the moment of measuring from this afternoon.
My husband say me doing this and said, “Dear G*d. What in heaven’s name are you doing now?”
Okay.
Sitting here writing this and looking at the pictures I feel pretty silly. But I know that I want my thighs to look differently by this summer.
And my daughter is going to remember her mother — the serious blogger in quest for true disclosure — asked her to take a photo of herself measuring her thigh with a tape measure.
Okay. I’ve never turned 50 before.
There seems to be a steep being-able-to age-effortlessly learning curve.
What about you? Ever take measurements to track progress? I’m not about to ask if you ever had your daughter take a picture of you completing the dirty task.
