Taking Back Our Own Hotness

Did she ever inspire us! She came up to us before class in our kickboxing dojo a few weeks ago. I was tempted to ask if her ears were burning because D and I had been discussing (tittering like schoolgirls) HER. There must be something to this subliminal messaging thing--and it doesn't just apply to advertising--cause she made a beeline right for us and, next thing we knew, she was flexing her arms in her sleeveless t-shirt and pulling up her uniform pants to show us (boo hoo) a bruise she got from shopping, of all things. No, not from a misplaced hook kick to the heavy bag or a sparring partner's shin, but from an item in a store aisle that had fallen on her well-toned calf and stamped it with a bruise that looked like the ace of spades. Now, I've heard of an ace up the sleeve but never a pant leg. Hmm.

Turns out that little scene was OUR ace. I mean, why should hotness apply only to someone with standard all-American good looks and credentials? That is, long flowing hair (which, of course, fell in a damp but sexy heap on her face after she pounded the crap out of the heavy bag), big limpid eyes, proportional athletic measurements and height--and a mother and doctor to boot. All this and of course those ARMS. Those arms that let her keep up with the boys in "boy" push-ups. Those arms that make the shihan's eyes wander. Early on, when D. and I were getting acquainted she mentioned this woman's actual name. Who? I asked. You know, D replied, "Hot arms." Of course. I knew exactly who she was talking about.

So, in a way, Hot Arms may be as much a victim of our collective body dysphoria as anyone else. But that's a topic for another blog. The point of this one is that we are taking back our own hotness. This is our journey to our own HOT ARMS!