Legs

1. What is the physical feature of your body that you hate the most?
My legs

2. Please explain why:
Please let me introduce you to my legs. They’re short, chubby, red, curved in all the wrong directions, lanced with stretch marks and old scars: and of course, lots of black hair. If I let them out of confinement and into the sun, they glow like moonlight—sickly, pallid yellow moonlight. Only I get to see them. Even in the sun, only I get to see them. I am the only one who knows after I learned to bike, I had bright purple and black bruises on my legs. I didn’t want to brag about my biking accomplishments—that would involve showing off all that I’ve never accomplished: like Barbie-thin shapely legs.

3. Describe one time when you were particularly angry with this part of your body, or when you felt the most aware of it.
It wasn’t always like this. In fact, for most of my childhood I wore shorts and was glad to run around. I actually terribly miss the feeling of the breeze and green grass on my calves and thighs. Around 12 or 13 I was sitting beside my dad. He patted my bare ankle and asked, “When you gonna start shaving these hairy monsters?” I excused myself. He didn’t know he hurt my feelings. He doesn’t know to this day how my self consciousness has grown from a vague feeling of unease to days when I don’t want to get out of bed. I recall standing in the bathroom with my shorts off looking at my legs. I tried to shave then, with a straight razor, and badly scarred my legs. My skin takes scars very easy as is. Now I wear a series of hatch marks from the times I tried to fit in. This line is from shaving for graduation, and this purple dot from a first date. Eventually I gave up, and stopped shaving. But now I must always be in hiding, or face being labeled a “dirty European women” or “lesbian” or “hippie.” All because I naturally have hair on my legs. I never knew my short-freedom would end as soon as I reached puberty.

4. If you could name this body part, what would you call it?
My dad would call it those hairy monsters. It’s hard to get past this name. I want to call them my legs, but I find I call them My Uglies, to refer to the Good, Bad and Ugly... for I am the most bowlegged woman who never rode a horse.