It's a universal fact that we all have embarrassing secrets. Today, I am going to share one of mine. It is something that is an irreversible fact about myself that I have had to simply accept. I.... Have..... Fat arms. If you are a man you just read that and became confused. If you are a woman you read that, gasped, and nodded knowingly. It is not an expression. I literally have fat arms.
This was first pointed out to me when I was teaching 10th grade in Florida. I was diligently assisting one of my darling 10th grade boys with his grammar assignment. I was having a real " Dead Poet's" moment. A teacher connecting with and shaping her pupils to do great things! This student was staring intently. I was making an impact. He tilts his head and points while saying, " Dang Mrs. T you've got big arms.... No, really. They're huge!"
Wounded, I stepped back while self consciously crossing my arms. " It's the shirt" I mumbled defensively, and stumbled to my desk to yank a sweater over my freakish upper arms. The wide eyed shock of this 10th grade delinquent stayed with me for years. It motivated me to tone and shape my arms. I could at least claim they were abnormally large from being in awesome shape ( so this never actually happened but it was attempted). I chose shirts and dresses that flattered and became a huge fan of the cardigan. I was at peace with my fat arms.
Well, this past weekend I needed a dress for a special occasion. I hastily chose a lacy confection from the store the day of the event. I hurried home to get dressed and ready. I slipped the dress on and set upon the task of finding the right shoes to go with it. While on this hunt, I noticed a growing rip in the lace sleeve of the right arm. Stunned, I ran to the mirror to check the severity of this wardrobe malfunction. It was bad. It was an ever widening, gargantuan hole in the upper arm of the sleeve. I haughtily shared my surprise that this store would sell such poor quality clothing that was already ripped when I bought it. " I was in such a hurry I didn't even notice!" I stammered. "Why, I never!" I sputtered in my best southern belle. I made do as best I could, attempting to hide the rip through out the evening, and tsking this store whenever someone started to point or give a questioning look.
But between me and you, I'm not sure it was the dress or the store. I think it was the fat arm. It might be time to revisit that whole toning mission. Or, embrace the situation and charge a viewing fee....