Nice? I internally questioned. It’s not a nice dress; it’s an okay dress. I’ve had it since 1997 and wore it today to clean my apartment and finish packing up my car. It doesn’t deserve a compliment.
As the parking attendant rolled up with my Corolla, I considered, perhaps it wasn’t my dress he thought was nice. Perhaps he was really thinking, nice collar bones, or nice legs, but defaulted to dress when he couldn’t really pinpoint what he thought was nice.
No one has ever told me nice collar bones, but I do get nice legs quite a bit. For instance, this past Sunday when I showed up at church the greeter stopped me. “Wait.” She instructed. “Before you go in, I have to tell you, you have the nicest legs of ANY person.” She continued on, confessing, “At leadership meeting, I kept staring at your legs, trying to figure out how anyone could possibly have such great legs.” My hot lawyer friend, Teresa, who was co-greeting, agreed.
I attributed the legs to my running, while Teresa insisted genetics must be at play. Thanks Mom and Dad. Not only are my parents to be thanked, but after a recent visit to the podiatrist (i.e. foot doctor), I realized they are also to be blamed. Thanks to genetics, my left feet bones aren’t as straight as they could be. But I suppose it could be worse; at least I didn’t end up with an extra toe like my friend Jason did. Jason and I worked together at Spring Hill Camp, and his boy campers thought he and his 6th toe were the greatest. I suppose it created more fame than setbacks in life – AND he still managed to go on to play pro football with his foot deformity.
I’m not hoping to go on to play pro football with my nice legs and crooked feet bones, but I am hoping to finish my book over the next couple of months, so rather than continuing my blog ramblings, back to the book it is.
Not too shabby of a view to wake up too... #Day 1 of Writing at the Lake House
Cheers from Michigan!