My last posting, “Enjoyable Hartford Courant columnist” got me thinking about legs. Fat Charlatan’s comment on the posting raised the topic again.
I remember looking at the legs of one of my high school English teachers. “She’s got hot dog legs,” I thought to myself. Her legs ran up and down smoothly, without misshapen indents and curves.
My legs indent at the knees. They swell out from there — classics of the piano leg style.
Even worse, my legs are prone to “five o’clock shadow.” I’ll bet you thought only men could suffer from that. But my leg hairs are prolific. They sprout like the snakes on Medusa’s head. I can’t ever totally eliminate them. That’s why I hated when my former employer decided to tolerate women’s bare legs during the summer. My secret was going to pop out of my pores.
However, I’ve decided to tough it out. Comfort trumps beauty, I’ve decided. I even wear shorts in the summer.
Sorry, folks. Don’t look too close.
My very first attempt at a novel (ten years ago) was called “Lily’s Legs.”
It was bloody awful, and I *think* I actually have a hard copy and a computer file of the wreckage just waiting to fall into the wrong hands.
This Great American Novel involved a young woman named Lily who hated her legs and who became involved with a very older man.
Yeah. Gripping, I know.
Let’s just say it was ten times more autobiographical than James Frey’s recent “memoir.” The real-life story had a very unhappy ending. The novel didn’t do much better (a good thing, actually, because that’s how bad it was. May it always rest in peace).
I don’t like wearing shorts, and not just because of my legs…I’m more comfortable in skirts and yoga pants in the summer…I’m not sure why that is.
Comment by Fat Charlatan — January 30, 2006 @ 6:18 pm