cracking coconuts

is everyone thin? shapeless? skinny is one thing, lean even, but shapeless sticks gliding past like stilt-walkers? only one person had shape and i envied her. thighs that could crack coconuts. reminded me of the chick from boxing years ago. what was her name? white chick. another one. jesus. they’re everywhere, like ants at a picnic. only…white.

back to this girl. i wondered what sport she played and if i knew it. you know sometimes they play shit like “ultimate frisbee” and “cricket.” could my thunderous thighs ever look like that? maybe she was a gymnast or a swimmer.  i wanted to ask but resisted the urge to sound like a nut job.

“excuse me, miss? you have thighs to die for. where can i get a pair?” like they’re a pair of shoes to covet.

if i felt my thighs were shapely and attractive i would be less inclined to notice those of other people. that’s the funny thing. as a woman i can observe another woman and appreciate her shape and re-image (not imagine, i do mean re-image like you would do with a photograph, there is a difference) myself with coconut cracking thighs like wonder girl over there, calves like tina turner, guns like angela bassett (when she played tina turner) and a tush like beyonce. yep, i’d be bootylicious.

why can’t i genetically re-engineer my own body, NOW, not prior to birth like these crazy fuckers who want to literally create the  perfect child.  one who will likely grow up to be a beautiful murderer.

when i climb the hill along ridgeview i look down and see the contour of my thighs. my quads are tight, stretched to the point of snapping as i dig in, determined to crest the hill, just as i’ve done here each day. and for a brief moment i think, i could crack coconuts with these.

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