Body image.

When does the self-flagellation end?!

I am at that age where acceptance of yourself should be a no brainer.

I exercise every damn day, mostly because I want to and of course in anticipation of the golden years.

Golden?

That’s hilarious…more like the rust years.

I have good eating habits.

That is not to say that I don’t indulge in an occasion French fry and I don’t have a love/hate relationship with bread.

I am what I am no matter how much I exercise, abide by portion control and pretend to love a steady regimen of cauliflower rice, zucchini spirals, kale, fruit, grilled chicken and fish.

I will never be skinny.

When they talk big bones, look no further.

In actuality, I have broad shoulders, long arms and usually have to buy men’s shirts and jackets and have them tailored.

But…a day never passes when I don’t beat myself up.

In this country you can look like a farm animal, but if the body rocks you are good to go.

Yeah, yeah beauty is skin deep and all that goop, but we are all about looks unless you are a billionaire, a legit influencer or feminist and Congresswoman Bella Abzug who broke barriers  and always wore a nice hat.

Men have it so much easier especially if they have power and money.

As men age they are labeled sexy and distinguished.

Women are considered interesting.

Anyway, love the one you’re with which obviously is yourself, but there is always that lingering desire for feeling groovy in a swimsuit.