how i learned to love my legs

For most of my life I loathed what I perceived to be my short, stocky little legs 

while longing for limbs of Bundchen proportions. I figured if I could eat a little less

and do an extra kilometer on the treadmill daily, this goal could be achievable to me.

So I spent years living on salads and shunning ice cream, I jogged, did 

pilates and Bikram yoga, yet to my dismay and confusion my thighs remained 

more Britney than Bundchen.

When I moved out of home, one of the first things I did was adopt me some kitties.

My cats could not be more different: ginger vs grey, long-bodied vs short,

clingy vs aloof, loud vs quiet, and as the way it is with all mummies, I adore 

their socks off, equally.

Snickers, my large ginger boy, is part oriental and has magnificently long legs that he 

uses and displays rather regally. In contrast Ziggy, my sweet tabby, has cute, squat 

stripey legs which he uses to bat balls around and catch mice. 

It occurred to me that Ziggy has short legs bones, and no matter

 how little Whiskas he consumes, or how many birds he chases, 

his pins will never morph into the long, sexy legs of Snickers. And

that's okay. Then it dawned on me, the same principle applied to myself.

 I love Ziggy's little legs and paws to bits and I never forget to tell him so.

I don't care if they are long, short, spotty, plain, fluffy, bald, black, white or green 

- they are Ziggy's legs and I cherish them because they are a part of him. 

I now love and celebrate my own legs - they take me shopping and dancing, 

they have ten toenails which I like to paint red and a couple of years ago, 

they even walked me down the aisle. Love your legs, they are the only ones 

you will ever have. Be kind to them and they will take you on all manner 

of amazing journeys.