Dressing Room Blues

Yesterday I discovered why I don't have a full-length mirror in the house.  If I did I would stand in front of it in my underwear saying, "Oh...my...God, Oh...my...God, Oh...my...God," over and over, just like I did in the dressing room at Gordman's yesterday.  Let me add here that I was not blaspheming.  I was asking for divine intervention before my skin falls down around my ankles like leg warmers.  My thighs absolutely did not look like this a few months ago in the dressing room mirror at Kohls.  There's sagging and dimpling and folding around my knees, the skin refusing to defy gravity like it used to.  I now have "old" legs.  My husband, my cheerleader and positive thinker, Don said, "It's okay honey, we still look great when we're in clothes.  That's all that matters."  When I talked on the phone with my friend Deb last week she too was trying to deal with connective tissue refusing to connect.  "DiNana (my Deb-issued nickname)," she fretted, "I am sitting here on the couch with my leg up and my skin looks like crepe paper and there is probably not a darn thing I can do about it!"  A bit of brainstorming ensued when she delightfully exclaimed, "Oh!  I put my leg down and now it's gone!  Problem solved!"  Deb makes everything so easy...for her.  I tried that tactic.  Having seen my thighs trying to slide off my body I sat down.  There, it's gone, I thought.  I stood back up and looked it again.  "No it's not!" I wailed out loud.