Fluffy Thighs

If you stand far enough back from a mirror, you can see most of your body. For that reason, I am often glad we live in a small house and I can't stand too far back from any mirror to look at my entire body.

But if you are out shopping for pants and you look at yourself in the full length mirror in the change room, you see yourself with your new pants on, and without any pants on.

When women get to a certain age or a certain weight, they complain of thigh rub. At first, your pants go swish-swish-swish as you walk. Then you get distraught once you figure out what's making that noise.

But when you unexpectly see yourself in the mirror, as when you have no pants on in the change room, and you see a fluffy fold of dimply, doughy flesh attached to the inner thigh of each leg, you get scared, really scared. Your first thought is, Oh my god, whose legs are those? Who's taken over my body? Your second thought is, Oh no, I have some weird disease.

When it sinks in that those fluffy thighs belong to you, you get depressed and angry. How could nature allow such grotesque things to happen, to you?

I'm not saying I have rubbing fluffy thighs. I'm just saying that's probably what would happen if one discovered fluffy thighs on oneself.