It’s been a long time since I broke out the jean shorts. Which is crazy because I live in FL where most months you walk out your door only to be smacked in the face by a thick and unrelenting blanket of overwhelming heat wrapped in oppressive humidity.
But at 45 my legs have acquired a mass of spider veins in an unmistakable purple hue. My thighs showcase impressive amounts of cellulite. And I am vigilant about protecting myself from skin cancer, so my legs are a perfect shade of pale.
It’s like the trifecta of middle-aged insecurities, so my shorts have pretty much been collecting dust.
But I wore a pair the other day and my husband noticed immediately and liked it. A LOT. He told me I looked hot so I told the negative nancies in my head to f*ck all the way off and kept wearing them.
IDGAF
Let the youngins peep my purple veins. These legs of mine have literally carried me through the lowest of lows and highest of highs and I’m not going to be weird about the imperfections they’ve picked up along the way.
I’m not going to shrink to go unnoticed. I’m going to STRUT IN MY JEAN SHORTS and nothing’s going to stop me anymore.
Put it on, ladies. Whatever it is that you stared at in the mirror picking apart and convincing yourself to take off. Maybe it’s a dress that felt tight, a pair of jeans that hugged differently than you remember, a bathing suit that showed some stretch marks. Let it all fly and wear whatever the hell you want and own it. Ok!?!?
