Deborah

A SYTYCB entry

Ladies, I’ve done it!!  I am proud to announce that I have finally achieved that elusive, highly sought after state-of-being:  The Perfect Body.  And I’m going to let you in on my little secret.

I didn’t do it with any diet – just the thought alone of subsisting on grapefruit and vinegar for extended periods makes me cranky.  I didn’t do it with an exercise program – my fitness initiatives are as sporadic as the rest of my life permits, and my best intentions will never ever satisfy the Beachbodies behind P90X.  And I certainly didn’t do it with pills, potions or products – as much as I love the idea of wearing a WWE-worthy belt to randomly electrocute my abs into six-pack shape.

Instead, I took a look at the definition of perfect.  We’ve spent our whole lives being told what “perfect” is.  It’s having the proportions of a comic book super-heroine (whose massive breasts never get in the way of all the crime-fighting action).  It’s having the super-smooth thighs of a teen, but never the hint of a blemish on our faces.  It’s having long hair, being the proper age to get away with having long hair, and, oh by the way, it would be great if that long hair is highly lustrous and appears only casually unkempt upon waking.  It’s being simultaneously brainy and dumb, active and passive, maidenly and sensual, tall and petite.  That’s a big order even ...