By S.D.Craig

Oh, the wonders of society, when they came up with the word “cellulite” for us women of thighs. We now had a name for that cottage cheese dimpling our legs, God help us. It’s kind of like PMS, isn’t it? Now that they’ve actually given a name out loud for it, we’ve all got it. There are meds for it, there are prescriptions written by the oodles for it, we must have it then. I wouldn’t doubt there are clothes for it by now.

The thighs have long since been one of the seven wonders of the world. Okay, maybe the ninth. They have been lean, tanned, muscular and toned. They have been wobbly, sickly, white and pasty in Winter, and downright jiggly. They have stood us up for years, and yet, we hate them. We want to trade with someone with cool thighs. Someone with legs to their armpits.

One of the most annoying things about having heavier legs than normal is that noise. You know the one. The whispering of thighs in certain materials. Pantyhose, silk, satin, that warm-up suit you wear. The noise means your thighs are too big. It means, oh dear, that you cannot see through them.

For a big woman, I have always had this dream that one day a man could stand behind me, yes, and really see through my thighs. Not THROUGH them, but between them. Yes, air. Those legs like Ally McBeal has, when she stands there, you can see through her thighs. It’s disgusting, isn’t it? I mean, Ally needs some fat. Good Lord, in a breeze, the girl will fall over, I’m sure of it.

But I hang around, continue to walk, swim, do a bit of Tai Boxing here and there. All this in hopes that not only will my health be better, maybe I’ll drop some weight, but it’s the swooshing of the thighs thing.

You might think I’m odd, but I’d like to hear other things, as I move about. Like a conversation, music, the tinkling of wind chimes, the bird singing overheard, the sky thundering, cars honking. Maybe my Walkman. Can I hear it? With all the swooshing going on, I want one thing.

I want silence when I walk.

SD Craig is a freelance writer and editor of LovingYourCurves.com and was given the nickname “Chatterbox” by fellow writers. At age fifty, Craigs Southern flair and sense of humor give her plenty to write about with a rapier wit and a wacky outlook. Her articles on body image (her biggest passion), marriage/divorce and relationships, family, friends, career issues, computers, the Internet, horses, baseball, movie reviews and writing tips remind one of Erma Bombeck or Dave Barry. A freelance writer who once juggled five columns then got real, Craig welcomes your e-mails and feedback on her articles. Drop her a hello at sdcraig922@yahoo.com or stop by www.lovingyourcurves.com.