To My Fat Thighs:

I am sorry for how I’ve treated you. In the past I was a little ashamed of you, perhaps a bit embarrassed. I did not understand how it was that you could contain these pounds of fat, when the rest of me was rather lean. Why was it (back when I frequented the gym), that no matter how many lunges I did or minutes ran on the elliptical trainer, your circumference never diminished? In the mirror I would see those craters of cellulite and heavily sigh. For years now I’ve done my best to conceal you in tights and cute skirts. During the summer my bathing suits were not sexy bikini bottoms but athletic board shorts. You were my nemesis; the one body part I’d choose to change if given magic powers. But now I sing a different tune.

I love your ample heft now. The way you so easily receive the daily sub-q shot is inspiring. How I wish I had thought to use you back in my IUI days! I love that I can stab the needle into you, and you easily and painlessly hold the syringe straight while I press the plunger in. You have made it so that I no longer rely on D for the nightly injections. I have no doubt that your cushioning will make even the added follistim and repronex shots next week effortless.

Thank you, thank you. Fat thighs, I rejoice in thee.