Michael walked out of our bedroom yesterday and said, "Why is there a bottle called FatGirl Slim on the bathroom counter."

Now, I considered my answer.  Did I really want to talk about the lotion I had recently purchased that was supposed to firm up skin and was unpleasantly though aptly titled?  Did I need to tell him about the compounds I hoped would miraculously turn my thighs back to their former skin glory?  Did I need to mention the facts of women's skin in these arcing toward menopausal years?  Did I need to tell him was that I was probably ripped off to the tune of 60 dollars?

No, not really.  He didn't need to know these facts.  And little did he know that I had purchased the accompanying nighttime bottle of lotion titled FatGirl Sleep.  He was soon to know that lotion intimately.

"Oh, it's for skin," I said.  He nodded, scowled (he hates things in the counter) and sat down in front of the Olympics on the TV.

The things we do.  FatGirl this and that.  Hair cuts and colors.  Toe nails.  Fingernails.  Facials.  Waxing.  Waxing is medieval torture, but the truth is at a certain age, women start growing dark hair where none existed and losing hair where there used to be too much.  Eyebrows become pale reminders of their former selves.  Hair starts to gray.  It seems completely wrong and unfair.

The body is the place the spirit and/or soul and/or personality resides, yet we carry it around in this flesh.,  It would be nice if it looked kept its shape a little longer, held together a bit more fully.  It would keep our spirits up! 

Sure I could be high minded and know that a person isn't her body but that deep inner essence within, but I'm still upset that the chiny chin chin line from The Three Little Pigs is true.