Letter To My Body

Dear Body,

I'd like to thank you for bringing me this far. We've had almost 23 years together and I'm planning on having a lot more. You've been with me through the hot and humid wet seasons in Darwin, when I made you sweat like freaking crazy. I'd like to think that taught me enough to keep you well-hydrated year-round. You came to America with me, for three months in the summer of 2005. That was a fun one. We were active and tanned - we looked hot! Then we moved to Adelaide, and I am so sorry I subjected you to this dry, cold climate. I'm working on finding the perfect moisturiser for us, but it has yet to appear. And in 38 days, we will be heading back to America, this time for BlogHer08! Between you and this blog, I'm hoping I will make an awesome impression. If I seem to be abusing you, in particular, your liver parts, that's just because I'm nervous, or having an awesome time. Possibly both. I promise to eat lots of greasy fries and drink lots of water; neither of us likes throwing up the next morning, and luckily, we rarely do. You've been with me through the basketball six days a week seasons, and the laying on the beach or the couch times, and now we're into the cycling 30 minutes a day routine. Hope that's ok. I'm feeling pretty good about it so far.

I would like to make special mention of a few parts in particular:

To my toes: When I was a little kid, I had a bit of an issue with you. There was a huge space between my big toe and the one next to it, caused, I believe, by wearing thongs (flip-flops) year-round. My parents did not believe in closed-in shoes for kids in Darwin, and I have to say, I don't believe in closed-in shoes for adults in Darwin. Hot and humid, baby. I was, however, very happy that my second toe was bigger than my big toe. I felt so sorry for my poor friend whose toes were in decreasing size order. The imperfections we have to live with. These days, I am perfectly happy with you. I force you into all kinds of painful but hot-looking shoes, and paint your nails bright colours. That makes me happy.

To my legs: I feel like we have a meh relationship. My calves are generally fairly shapely, and sometimes reach the level of tannedness that I like. My thighs are generally a tad thicker than I'd like, but hey, that's the price of Maccas and double-choc ice-cream. I shave you, except when no-one is going to see you, and you get me from point A to point B. We're a decent team.

To my hips and arse: (Oh, my god. 'Baby Got Back' just came on my computer. Spooky!) Arse verse same as the thighs. Honestly, I like the curves you guys give me. Sometimes you go a little overboard with it, and you are a freaking pain to buy jeans for, but you know what? I like you. We're cool.

To my tummy: From looking at older female relatives, you are going to be my downfall. I do not want to be mistaken for a pregnant person if I am not pregnant. At the moment, you're doing ok. Right at this moment, you should have a fricking six-pack, with the constant work-out you're getting from my 24/7 coughing. ('I Got It From My Mama' just came on. Now you're just messing with my mind.)

To my arms: You guys are so good. Always slim, voted most likely to be at an acceptable level of tan, unlikely to win any wrestling competitions, but I'm ok with that. Stay cool, dudes.

To my boobs: You were always a little less than I would like. When I look at pictures of you (with the rest of the body, naturally) from a few years ago, you were so little! And then I put on a little weight, and bam! there you were. It was a huge thrill buying my first C-cup. I doubt you're going to get any bigger, and I am perfectly fine with that. We had a little thing there for a bit, and that 2.8cm lump is still there. Just keep an eye on yourselves ok?

To my face: I always liked my lips. My mouth on the other hand ... my smile is just weird. I'm working on both the smile and the caring about it. My nose is ok. Cheekbones are decent, especially in photos where I blow a kiss - then they rock! My eyelashes could stand to be a little longer and thicker, but that's why God invented mascara. My eyes are green, which I love. They could stand to be little darker or more dramatic, but I was always glad they weren't boring old blue or brown. My eyebrows I have left alone, but I'm thinking they could be slightly improved. They've done their job so far (whatever that may be) and I'm happy to leave them to it.

And finally, to my hair: Oh, my hair. Right now, you are long, dark, and straight. Through most of my childhood, you were around shoulder-length, thick as, and way curly. I was never not happy to have curly, as I understood - theoretically - that I had more options this way, that people would kill for curly. What I struggled with was how to control it. And that was my mistake. I actually got quite good at controlling it, but the awesomeness would have been in letting it go free and crazy. Away from the humid influence of Darwin, it is straight maybe five days out of the week. This is so much easier to deal with, and worth the half-hour it takes me to straighten it. I do worry that it's getting thinner, and forgetting how to be curly. Please don't; I really love you, the more so because I only see the thick glorious curls on special occasions.

And so, my body, that is you. Way more than the sum of your parts, because you are me. You, this blog, and my brain (which I worry about sometimes: yes we get High Distinctions, and know the difference between your and you're, but what do we really know?) - you three are Me. And that is awesome!