Re-Thinking My Build

   My kids really wanted Harry Potter Legos for Christmas, and Santa brought them. (Love that Santa, right?)

   I've never been much of a builder, but wow! Legos have come a long way since my day, and I've found that it's really interesting trying to find the parts and creating a whole new world either by direction or by imagination. All you do with these Legos is find a piece you need and SNAP it in place, and Voila! You have a new creation.

   I have decided that if I were ever able to re-build my body, as in creating from scratch via a Lego-type system, I might change a few things about me with a quick SNAP!

   First, I'd start at my feet. I've written blog posts about what I call my "Fred Flintstone" feet. Years of walking barefoot and breaking all of my toes because I'm a klutz have turned what used to be petite size 5s into wide, flat duck feet - sized 6 or 6.5, depending on the shoe. My toes have all expanded from wear and tear, and frankly, I'd need a sandblaster to get the callouses off my feet - just in case I wanted to play footsies with anyone of the opposite sex some day. My poor son says my feet are "Sandpaper feet". So, if he is seven and feels that way, imagine how a man my age might feel rubbing up against those babies! If I actually dated someone who had a foot fetish, he'd be instantly cured of that with one look at my "Freds". So, new feet are priority one for me. SNAP!

   Second, legs. Short, stubby and spider veined. Need I say more? I've never been able to do the long jump in school or in when I was in the military in boot camp. For me, a long jump is about two feet. Let's face it, if your legs are only three feet long, you can't really SPRING into action at a moment's notice and get very far. I'd also like to be a little taller. I'm 5'1" tall. If I were at least 5'5", my height might be in more proportion to my weight, and I'd be in less danger of having my head be used as an end table by people over 5'10" tall. As a short woman, I get lots of "You'd make a great end table for this beer bottle." Ha ha... SNAP!

   Let's get to the belly. I am what might be considered a "pear shape". Heart attack city, according to all the current medical journals. When you are short and stubby in build like I am, the fat has to land somewhere. For me, it's always been my abdomen. Doctors warn that people with a "pear shape" are in danger, danger, danger of being more prone to heart attacks because of the abdominal fat. I say to them, "You try running around like you have an ass on the front and an ass in the back and you'd have a heart attack too." Science be damned! Just knowing that it has been 20 years since I wore a bikini is enough to make me die a thousand deaths. And here's the best part: I don't care. I've been to boot camp. I know that several thousand sit ups will cure me of that in no time - but heck, my back hurts too much from carrying that spare fat that I wouldn't want to hurt myself trying to get into shape again, so that's out. SNAP!

   Boobs. More personal. Unfortunately, I was an early bloomer. By 11 I had them, by 12 I wished them away as they hung to my knees. By 27 I did just that, only surgically. It feels good to fit into a bra cup today that might fit my knee cap as opposed to my whole head. Enough said. SNAP! (Or should I say "UN-SNAP?")

   Next is arm flab. I'd like to say it comes with age, and it does, IF YOU DON'T WORK OUT. I don't. So, even hefting little kids makes me strong as hell, but my muscles are not "cut" and I am not "buff." But, can I lift two kids in each arm with a backpack on and walk a dog at the same time while wiping boogers off a kid's face? You betcha! Multi tasking is so much better than looking buff, in my opinion. Hey, I may not look great at the pool, but I can save your kid if he is drowning and three other kids if they are drowning at the same time, and I think that's a better skill than looking good in sleeveless shirts. SNAP!

   Hands? I'll never be a hand model. My aunt says I have "sausage fingers." You know what that means - short, stubby and not at all delicate. Actually, come to think of it, the only thing about me that is delicate is, well, nothing. But, I've always used my hands. I have waited tables, tended bar, flipped burgers, typed, cleaned toilets, went through boot camp, scooped drunken boaters out of the water and tied lots of knots. These are not hands that look good in nail polish. These are working hands. Still, they are arthritic, so I'll wish a little SNAP! for my poor, poor sausage fingers.

   My neck? I guess for now I'd keep that. I have a little arthritis there, but It still turns quickly when I see a cute guy, so it's in good working order (for now).

   I recently pierced my nose with a diamond stud. It was an act of 46-year-old divorce-related defiance. It lasted a month. I loved it, but really, it was just another thing to get caught on a washcloth, and since I am such a klutz, a friend nicely reminded me, "Do you really think that's a safe thing for YOU to have?" Out came the piercing. It was fun while it lasted. The hole closed up in five minutes. UNSNAP! 

   I have aqua green eyes. That's pretty cool. I wouldn't change those. The problem is that I have been so blind all my life that I thought they were blue because I couldn't see them. It was only when a man came up to me recently and said, "Do you know that you have the most piercing green eyes I've ever seen?" did I know that they actually ARE green. I thanked him and immediately went to the Department of Licensing and had them change it on my license. Bastards left my old weight on there, too, though. I figured it wasn't worth going back for that because, honestly, I might get back up there to that weight after reading this post. How depressing. I see a box of cookies in my future - watch out, abdomen! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP...!

   Ears. Well, My poor dad had big ears. Eventually he grew into them, but his USMC photo has him looking (as he calls it) like "Howdy Doody." Unfortunately, I inherited those ears. Trust me, I didn't grow into them. Kids called me "Dumbo" and "Mickey Mouse" and my Step dad said I looked like a "Volkswagen going down the highway at 60 mph with both doors open." At age 16 my mother thought I'd have a nervous break down because I gave up swimming and brushing my hair from the sheer embarrassment of owning those ears. We went to a surgeon and UNSNAP! A few stitches and severe agony fixed that Volkswagen problem. 

   Now my hair. It's been 900 shades of every color Miss Clairol has. I've written posts about this as well. I've decided that as a woman, I reserve the right to change my hair color at any time - brain cells be damned! I may be short and stubby, but at least my hair will look cute! I recently took a Facebook poll of all my friends, asking if I should go back to my natch Auburn or stay the highlighted blonde. Everyone voted for Auburn (except one friend who had a good point that new life = new hair = new start. Good advice, but I think I'll go with the majority and go back). Again, I reserve the right to add more chemicals at any time and UNSNAP/SNAP! (depending on how you look at it).

   The only thing I wouldn't change is my smile. I lucked out there. I inherited a nice one from my mom. Never had a cavity until I hit 23, no braces, nothing. Perfect teeth. They are still working for me, and I can still chew food, so I'll keep those. It's kind of like if you look at my sparkling smile, you might not notice my duck feet, pear shape, sausage-fingered and flabby-armed issues. Catch someone with a smile and it might be enough to make them stop looking elsewhere. (Until I open my mouth, which brings me to this next SNAP!):

   The one thing about me I'd change for sure is this: My insane need to share way too much information with the world. I talk way too much, my brain never stops, and I just need to share. YOU  have the right NOT to read this, and that's your choice. But, my mom always said I have "diarrhea of the mouth" and I don't think there's a Lego UNSNAP for that, and I'm not sure if I'd want that. So, I'm calling it "un-snappable for today."  

But there is hope: Maybe some day I'll embarrass myself so much in this venue that I'll either shut up or just actually and finally SNAP!

   So, enjoy it (or not) while you can. : )

CHEERTH!