Dear Ladies,

If you are anything like me I am anything like you, please - please, please, please - do not look down at your thighs and marvel at how massive they are and wonder whether you can clap with them at the theater instead of using your hands.

The early end of this week has been wretchedly hot (for Berkeley), and it took me until Tuesday to give up my skinny jeans and pull on a tiny pair of only semi-opaque shorts even just to loll in my room. Since I am of delicate constitution and possess a bladder the size of Luxembourg (assume this metaphor in a world of Russian and Canadian bladders), I inevitably had to evacuate my bladder (Invaders from the North! Women and children first!), which meant passing by the floor-length mirror in the hallway.

Holy crap. I am a stick compared to my mental image of myself.

Above, me suffering from a sinus headache. Gray top: gift. Shorts: supposed to be undergarments, my grandmother.

Above, blinded by my pasty legs and gross feet.

And even though other people have told me I'm skinny, I've always assumed I'm slightly on the chub side and they were being Nice (especially hearing it from skinny girls). But I suppose that aside from my face, I am not on the chub side. This is good to know.

Dear Ladies,

Please don't give your thighs of all body parts a hard time, because your perspective is skewed.

[EDIT:

via Lincoln, added without permission:

"it wasn't until I saw pictures of me on a bike that I realized that my thighs aren't giganto"

/EDIT]