Bear de Milo
I do not, as a rule, like showing my arms. Or my legs, for that matter. Even when I have been slimmer than I am now, I haven't particularly liked wearing shorts. My knees look too heavy. But you'd think that at least I should be able to wear short sleeves, even when I am not feeling particularly svelt.
Perhaps it's the memory of one of my teachers shaking her arms over us in fourth grade. She wore sleeveless dresses and her upper arms were somewhat flabby so that when she pointed at us, they would wobble. I hate looking in the mirror and seeing my arms like that.
"So just keep them by your side," you say. "Don't point accusingly at people." Ah, but then they'd press against my rib cage and look even bigger. I have arms like a man. Except when it comes to doing manly things like putting the air conditioners in the windows; then I'm a wimp. Sure, I can "make a muscle" if I flex my arm, but what muscle there is doesn't seem to be good for anything more strenuous than holding a book--or a foil.
It's funny, if you look at the Venus de Milo and imagine her arms, I doubt very much that mine would be even close to as big as hers. Certainly, her torso is good and beefy. Kinda like mine. On a good day. In the right light. So why can't I see that my arms would be just as lovely as hers, if she were willing to show them?
Perhaps it's the memory of one of my teachers shaking her arms over us in fourth grade. She wore sleeveless dresses and her upper arms were somewhat flabby so that when she pointed at us, they would wobble. I hate looking in the mirror and seeing my arms like that.
"So just keep them by your side," you say. "Don't point accusingly at people." Ah, but then they'd press against my rib cage and look even bigger. I have arms like a man. Except when it comes to doing manly things like putting the air conditioners in the windows; then I'm a wimp. Sure, I can "make a muscle" if I flex my arm, but what muscle there is doesn't seem to be good for anything more strenuous than holding a book--or a foil.
It's funny, if you look at the Venus de Milo and imagine her arms, I doubt very much that mine would be even close to as big as hers. Certainly, her torso is good and beefy. Kinda like mine. On a good day. In the right light. So why can't I see that my arms would be just as lovely as hers, if she were willing to show them?
I rather wonder if it's down to several centuries of stereotype formation: the idea that strong arms are unfeminine. I think it's essentially classist - strong arms imply working in manual labour, so skinny arms are a sign of being above all that - in the same way that being pale used to be valued as it showed you were too high-class to need to work in the fields.
ReplyDeleteMomma Bear.... I think it's called growing older, which affects all of us :-( Auntie Bear's B-Day is on the Ides of March so she is feeling it more than usual, Uncle Bear on the other hand has been enjoying too much porridge of late since it is just right. So embrace it with the foil wielding arms and read a good book. I only wish my arms were longer so I could hold the book out further since I can't see things up close anymore very clearly.
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