Yes, I have a great body. It’s true. I know it. I must declare that it’s wonderful to have such a body as mine. How do you know this? What audacity you have to say this! Surely, you are a vain and arrogant woman! Oh, no, this is not the case, not at all, so don’t be offended. I simply state the facts. Here is how I know my body is beautiful to behold:
· Wait til you see my right knee! It’s a beautiful one, for sure. Notice the bland gray mark about ¾ of an inch in diameter. Isn’t it fabulous?! I know you wish you had one too. This mark is a one of a kind, though, and truly attests to my wonderful body. It is evidence of my body’s ability to jump back up and not be pushed around by boys who want to steal things from me. You thought you could take that soccer ball from me, Mark, by pushing me down on the track and tattooing my knee with tarmac. Oh, but you were wrong! You didn’t know I had such a great body—one that would get back up and take back what you stole. · And get a load of my midsection! Look out, girls, when I strut my stuff on the beach in my bikini! All heads will turn in admiration, no doubt about that. They’ll walk up to me and want to touch my soft, wrinkly tummy and declare what a wonder it is! You know, it’s like a balloon (the regular kind, not the crinkly, metalic-colored ones) that was filled with helium, but after about a week when it deflates, you are left with a very soft, wrinkly piece of material that is wonderful to stroke. Yes, my belly is just like this! Try not to be too jealous, and go ahead and touch it—I’ll indulge you just this once. Maybe someday, after you’ve carried four small ones in your womb, one at a time, one at a time, then two at a time, your midsection can be as accomplished as mine. For now, you’ll just have to admire it, and accept yet this one more piece of evidence that my body is truly great. · We must move on now to my breasts. Oh, yes, we cannot talk about how great my body is without mentioning these humanitarian girls—always putting others’ needs first and maintaining a desirable image while serving the masses. They’ve been small and budding, huge and round, like porn star boobs only filled with milk. The nipples have been faithful to me, knowing, like true geniuses, when to remain slightly numbed so all the licking, sucking, and biting wouldn’t bother me too much when my babies needed nourishment; and knowing when to tingle with pleasure at my lover, so all the licking, sucking, and biting would send delight surging through my beautiful body. Absolutely, I submit my breasts to you as another piece of evidence that my body is great indeed. · I cannot forget to mention my hands. I have two of them—no small thing since not everyone does—and they are stunning! Many have said I could be a hand model, and I cannot argue with them. It’s true: my hands are fabulous. I’m sure they have skills that not many of you can claim. In one swift motion one hand can clear mucous and crud from a child’s eye, nose, and ear, and dispose of it discreetly, while the other can pin a child on his back, wipe away his putrid feces, wrap it up in a diaper and toss it in the nearest trash bin. Truly remarkable, I know. My hands can gesticulate beautifully whether in anger, spiritual passion, lecture, or humor to get my desired point across. My hands can plunge into a mirky pond faster than anyone else’s to bring up a prized slimy frog to the delight of old and young onlookers alike. Oh, they can do much more, I assure you of that. For now, this is enough evidence that my hands contribute to my fabulous physique. By now, I’m sure you are ready to concur that my body is great, but finally, I must cite one more example of my body’s true grandeur. Are you ready? I’ll give you some clues—that way we’ll make it a fun guessing game for this last one. I’ve got in excess of 100 of them. Are they hairs?, you say. Ah, no good guess, for my hair is wonderful, I know that for sure. But, no, this is not it yet. Another clue: No two of them are the same. Hmm, perhaps you mean your wrinkles? Oh, another great guess! Indeed I know my wrinkles are impressive and tell endless stories of laughter, worry, fun in the sun, and super birthday parties, but, no, again, you are wrong. Okay, one more clue. This should do it for you: You can play a connect-the-dots game with them. Your moles, your moles!, you cry. And, of course, you are finally right! My moles, no question, show forth my body’s beauty. They tell you who I am, and a person must know who she is if she is to claim greatness of any kind. I am Stella’s great-granddaughter, that’s for sure, a pale, white-skinned Germanic woman bespeckled to woo the best of them. I have not yet attained her moley greatness, for her back was a mosaic of skin tags. I have moles like hers, though, just not quite so many yet. At least I know my body will only increase in greatness in this particular area as I age. Here, let me roll up my sleeve and show you just a few of these beauties, for their diversity is truly stunning. You’ll note small, dark flat ones. Don’t overlook the nearly transparent ones—you can tell they are there because they are raised and feel like a bump when you run your hand over them. And then there’s the medium brown ones, also slightly raised, with a baggy quality—they’ve got some movement and give to them. Occasionally, this variety reaches another level of splendor when it sprouts a hair. Oh, yes, then it is truly magnificent. I only have a couple of these, but I’m sure when I’m as old as Stella was, I can boast many more. I’m quite confident that my body, too, will attain the great level hers did by the time I’m 80. So, as you can clearly see from the evidence I’ve cited before you today, my body is a wonderland. John Mayer thinks so, and now you, too, know why.
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Valerie GeerWriter. Women's activist. Theologian. Providing authentic reflections from a female perspective. Archives
March 2016
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