Genes for jeans


I’ve always been taller than average girl, even at a very young age visibly dwarfing all my pigtailed fairylike peers. Despite being a very scrawny child i could not lay claim to any illusions of daintiness, infact bearing more of a resemblance to a small boy, a factuality bolstered by the complete golden curled antonym that was my younger sister. My sister was petted and adored, a delicately freckled cherub beside whom i faded into almost colourless insipidity being lanky and pale and never quite seeming to wear my own skin with anything like a vestige of confidence. I could never quite see from which of my family i gained my characteristics, resembling neither my mother nor my father, perhaps being some changeling placed in a nest of golden freckled fledglings, feeling resentful when dressed in blue yet again when i so longed for the pink frilled fripperies afforded my dainty doll of a sister. Thankfully we grow and as i have grown older i have realised that far from being some beauty whose looks decline with age i have infact turned out to be just the opposite, only growing into any semblance of an attractive woman as the years roll by. But despite this i have often longed to be petite and dainty, the kind of woman men like to pick up and cuddle and sweep elegantly off their feet feeling manly and protective. Alas not so for me for despite so many attempts to change my appearance and become some elegant statuesque beauty there was no detracting from the fact i remained more of amazonian proportions. for sure in a past life i imagine i would have been Boudicca or Hippolyta, women more famous for their warrior like countenances. And so i ponder the mystery of genes, and the fate that determines the you that you’re destined to be and each morning as i do my little wriggle into my jeans ritual i mentally curse my parents for the less than desirous proportions afforded me from the gene pool. And then i echo the cry of so many women the world around as i ask..does my bum look big in this??

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