Thighs

My thighs are fat

They carry my weight

As opposed to my back

Which never over-ate.

I walk miles each day

To keep them trim

But still they pucker

There’s no shrinking them.

My wrists are small

Ankles, as well

My arms don’t have flaps

But my thighs…What the hell?

I’m shaped like my mom

Though quite a bit smaller

And she never exercised

So, my thighs-why the horror?

I massage them, use lotion

That’s s’posed to melt fat

Do leg lifts and squatties

But still, look at that.

Diets won’t shrink them

And still they wobble

Each cell has a mouth

Seeking food to gobble.

Is chocolate the problem?

Lord, please, NO!

‘cause that’s one thing

I can never let go!

I’m an addict, it’s true,

And I say it with pride.

No shame in chocoholism

I won’t be denied.

So when kids say, “Granny,

I see your thighs wiggle.”

I’ll give them a chocolate

And together, we’ll giggle.

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