What comes to mind when you hear the following phrases?
- Bat Wings
- Bingo Wings
and my personal favorite...
- Change Purse
Without my even throwing the word "arm" up there, I'm sure most of you know what I'm talking about -- the upper arms. The triceps. The backs of the tops of your arms.
Or, in my case -- that elusive part of my body nobody sees.
I kind of had a weird obsession when I was a little girl with this part of my mom's body; I loved how soft and cushy her arms were -- like mini pillows for me to lay my head upon.
Now... when my 7-year-old grabs this part of me and kneads it like Play-Doh, declaring it "mushy," I tend to get self-conscious as I redirect his little hands anywhere else.
And when someone hugs me, and gives me that little extra squeeze on that part of my arm, I do freeze up a little bit.
Soooo... what's up with that?
I've always struggled with weight and body issues, and I've missed out on certain things/made life a little more difficult because of my issues:
Like...
- When my best friend got married and I was her maid of honor, I had to have a special little "shawl" made by a seamstress because the dress had no sleeves. Because nothing is more youthful/fashion-forward than a shawl, right?
- I spent my teenage years in Florida. Brutal heat. I can recall being sleeveless a handful of times. Mostly in formal dresses or while performing in lip-sync contests (it was the '80s).
- I'm an actor and I always try to butter up the costume designer as they take my measurements, letting them know that I prefer not to go sleeveless if at all possible in plays/commercials/films/life.
But today, something changed. Something in me, like a switch was flipped. A table was turned. And a tank top was donned, as I said out loud in my bedroom to no one... "How stupid."
Because speaking of brutal heat, it has been especially hot here in the northwest over the past two weeks. Like crazy hot.
I dug to the bottom of my T-shirt drawer and unearthed a cute, rarely worn, gray and white striped tank top. I put it on with a black cotton skirt. I looked in the mirror. "It's hot outside and I am wearing this today," I said, out loud again, to no one. I may be going a little nutty from the heat.
I came downstairs. I went to the coffee shop on the corner with my son. We ate a bagel. And guess what? Nothing happened. I wore a tank top today and absolutely nothing happened.
I asked Sam to take my picture. I guess part of me wanted documentation that this day had come and this actually happened. Truthfully I was ready to tear myself apart when I grabbed my phone away to look at the picture.
But it wasn't bad. It was fine.
In fact, it was kind of OK.
So, upper arms, I'm sorry. I truly owe you an apology. I'm sorry for the years that I've kept you hidden, under wraps, under 3/4-length sleeves when it was way too hot for sleeves at all. And I'm especially sorry for the permanent farmer's tan which I'm not sure can ever be corrected.
I vow to try never to hide you under a shawl again. Or a capelet. Or a shrug.
Or anything with a stupid name like "capelet" or "shrug."
And I vow to try my hardest not to freeze up next time someone lovingly gives me an upper-arm squeeze.
Lori's website, Drawn to the '80s, is where her son draws the music hits of the 1980s. Her blog, Once Upon a Product, is where she writes about music, food and her obsession with Mick Jagger.
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