The Dimpling of My Discontent

I live in Florida.  I own no shorts.

Why don’t I own shorts?  That’s a really valid question, what with the “Florida” thing and all.  I would probably be much more comfortable in the summer when it’s around 5,000 degrees outside with 5,000% humidity if I could just throw on a good ol’ pair of shorts.

I don’t own shorts because my thighs look like a Christmas advent calendar where behind every dimple lies a trinket of horror.  THERE.  Are you satisfied?

I, dear friends, am a suffereur of cellulite.  It sounds fancier if you misspell “sufferer”, doesn’t it?  Like auteur, or provocateur, or whoeur.

I really shouldn’t beat myself up over it, I know.  I should beat up all those cruel, evil people who have smooth thighs, especially the ones who are like, “Oh, you should try working out!”

Screw you, Patsy.  I work out two times a day like a freaking racehorse and that stuff is still very much present and getting worse by the year.  I’m sure at this rate in another ten years I’ll have to get rid of even my ankle-cropped pants and just wear a long tube of fabric that ties off under my feet and I’ll have to crawl across the ground like an inchworm to get around.

“You should cut out dairy!”  Yep.  Tried it.  No dice.  Still dimpletown, but then the matter was further complicated by not having access to those little Babybel cheeses that I crave night and day.  I’ve gotta tell you, dimply and angry are two bad looks that look bad together.  You can check the research on that.  It tracks.  Sometimes cheese is the only thing that gets people through the night, you heartless bastards.  Don’t take it away from innocent people who are just trying to live their lives when your science is junk at best.

Oh, oh!  And you people with your “Well, I guess I must just have good genes!” can go cram it, too.  Are you saying that I have bad genes?

Because I do.  Nice catch, there!

If you put my DNA under a microscope it looks like a couple of rabid raccoons went crazy with a trash can full of expired silly string and Mountain Dew at a Pink Floyd laser light show.  I’m surprised my internal organs are even on the inside at all and I don’t just have to wear them around my neck like a charm necklace.  I truly, deeply, envy the posture and physical grace of the average gutter possum.

My bad romance with this dreaded dimply condition started when I was 11 years old, when I weighed less than 100 pounds, and was very physically active.  One day I looked at the side of my right thigh and went, “What the hell is THAT?”  It happened at a water park, too, with witnesses.  I wanted to deal with this humiliating matter as reasonably as possible, so I went back to the water park later that night and burned it to the ground.  I put up a tombstone where it once stood that read “RIP Maggie’s Non-Dimpled Thighs 1976 – 1987”.

I hate to be Negative Nancy here, except that I don’t hate it because I excel at being Negative Nancy, but I’m here to tell you that there’s no hope.  If there’s a cream, gel, patch, lotion, exercise, diet, witch doctor, magic spell, or animal sacrifice that’s been purported to reduce cellulite, I’ve tried it.  I’ve tried it and it failed.  I should have just taken all the money I doled out for these remedies and spent it on something that actually makes me happy, like another vintage Donny Osmond lunch box or my drinking habit.

So far the best solution I’ve found when faced with bare-thighness in daylight with witnesses is to create a diversion on the other side of the room, back slowly out the door, and run for my life.  This is why I carry a sack of pre-filled water balloons and an airhorn with me at all times.

I tried throwing a handful of sand into the other person’s eyes one time like a cellulite ninja, but that got “hostile” really fast.  People are all, “Oh my god you threw sand in my eyes!  Oh mother of all things holy!!!  I’m blind!  I’m bllliiiiiiiind!!!!!” and you’re like, “Did you see anything before the blinding?!!  This lighting is really unflattering in here you know!”

I realize that literally 90% of all women have cellulite, and that it’s perfectly normal and something that nobody should be ashamed of, but how is it that all of the women who don’t have it are the ones who end up on television, in movies and magazines?  If you follow the stats, that means every single woman who doesn’t have cellulite ends up being famous.  That’s science!  Or photoshopping.  Either one.  My math may be slightly off there, but SO WHAT?

Do these women have a secret club??  Is there a special knock that leads to a secret room filled with women have the thighs of young amphibians?

Because we need to find that room, and lock those bitches in.

17 thoughts on “The Dimpling of My Discontent

  1. there is a secret club that you automatically become a member of when you reach age 55. Its the “Invisible Woman” club when people stop noticing you. When was the last time you gave an old woman a second look I now own shorts and I wear them IN PUBLIC. At 60 I stopped shaving my legs and guess what? (two things) 1. No one looked (2) after a few months of growth, your legs are soft again. As a side benefit, when you die, a member of the club will show up with tweezers to pluck out any chin hair that the mortician left behind. Hope is on the horizon….

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I finally beat my one unrelenting chin hair! I only had to tweeze it every two weeks for twenty years and POOF! All of a sudden it just stopped coming back!

      I’m sure it’s already called in for reinforcements, so I’m stocking up on industrial-sized tweezers.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Blind them with your smile, and they’ll never notice the dimples on your legs. Besides, only other women notice these things.

    Signed,

    Almost 60 and wears shorts

    Liked by 1 person

  3. I live in South Texas and have thought about tightening my cellulite ridden thigh skin by clamping it to my butt with binder clips. As long as there is alcohol, however, I resolve to reveal my blinding cottage cheese legs to the world every time I’m too drunk or lazy to face life in actual pants rather than wearing tied on short shorts patterned with farting space lizards — which is always.

    Come to think of it, I may have bigger problems…

    Love your work. Nice ass, toots.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. OMG! I’m so glad I’m not alone on this one. This is why I have to wear panty-hose because I don’t have beautifully smooth, tan twenty-five year old legs (probably cuz I’m 49) but I never had “nice” legs. I too have been betrayed by my genes (thanks MOM!). And having to wear panty-hose because I wear a lot of dresses for work. One day I went to use the ladies room and came out with my dress tucked into my hose (another Bridget Jones moment.) I didn’t notice until the receptionist yelled (after walking down the hall way through the Spartan 300 of medical students) “Oh God your dress, you need to fix your dress!” Then I heard a medical student say under her breath, sarcastically “Who wears hose now a days anyway?” UGH! This really burned my biscuits and I told her “I do, and you know why? Because as women age, everything loses it’s perkiness, it’s rigidity and everything droops, sags and bags. And one day you will realize it too because you won’t always be twenty four, and I hope that someone says something stupid to you that you will remember the woman walking down the hallway with her dress tucked into her pantyhose! I am your future ladies, live and learn!” Sorry, my rant is officially over. lol

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Haha! I would have absolutely died if that had happened to me!

      This is why I’m so happy when “winter” rolls around in Florida – I can wear tights under my dresses and not get crazy looks! I mean, I do still get crazy looks because winter here means around 68 degrees Fahrenheit, but still! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  5. I did die of embarrassment but only after I was in my office that I ate an entire package of Oreos. Tights are a girls best friend if you ask me. I can’t wear them because I live in far West Texas and our winter is about 72 degrees so I would get crazy looks. For me panyhose do the job, I have worn leggings though because of the fucking bi-polar weather we get here in El Paso, I mean it was 69 degrees yesterday, and today its 42!!! 42 DEGREES!! YOUR KILLING ME SMALLS!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  6. This line; ‘Sometimes cheese is the only thing that gets people through the night’. Amen. If I can’t sleep, cheese is my go to. If cheese is the problem, well that’s not gonna get fixed anytime soon. If God had wanted me to wear shorts, she shouldn’t have given me knees fatter than my face. But I can live with that. Very funny post 😉

    Liked by 2 people

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