I Love My Hips
For the first time in decades, I’m not worried about my hips
getting larger as the holidays approach. I love my hips. I feel sorry for all
those skinny-as-a-preacher’s-wallet supermodels slinking down the runways in their
pencil skirts. They’ve never discovered the splendid uses of hips.
In my hipless days, if I wanted to tote a box of Christmas
decorations from the backyard shed to the house, I had to carry it in both arms,
like a hug. Made navigating across the yard a bit rough since I couldn’t see
where I was stepping. Now I simply perch the box on one hip, shelf-like, breeze
across the yard, open the door with my free hand, and collapse.
Hips are also useful for bouncing hungry or colicky babies
while stirring macaroni on the stove. Without hips, you’d have to plunk junior
or princess in their highchair and listen to them wail while you tried to fix
supper. A ton of macaroni has been rescued from burning by the marvelous
invention of hips.
I discovered my favorite use for hips on a recent visit to
see my grandchildren. I sat down on a playground swing and realized that there
was no danger of me falling out, no matter how high I went. My handy hips had
me wedged in tighter than a sailor on shore leave. But I knew I’d never go back
to being hipless again when my six-year old grandson stepped behind me to push.
In his innocent-of-evil voice he said, “Grandma, you’re easy to push, because
your bum is so big!”
That’s why you won’t find me refusing mashed potatoes or
eggnog this holiday season. How can I let my little guy down? I do wish they’d
find a way to get me out of this swing, though.
As you've grown up, do you love your body more than you used to? How are you spending Thanksgiving?
