Real beauty

Ladies, friends, sisters, teammates. There is a question we must ask ourselves.

How much time do we waste worrying about our bodies every year?

The way our thighs rub together. The way our jeans make that creased ring around our middles. The way fluorescent lights in dressing rooms make those dimples look like craters (evil!). The way our nipples don't point to the sky the way they used to. The way our upper arms keep waving even after we've stopped saying goodbye. The way we evaluate every digicam photo to make sure it's not a candidate for immediate erasure due to multiple chins.

If you add up all that time you could probably do some wonderful things with it. You could spend an entire day with your friends. You could plant a whole garden. You could wash every neighborhood dog, car, and kid. You could give yourself a day of massage and relaxation at the spa. You could play hookie and take a field trip to the places you don't ever get to see in your very own city. You could take your partner on a romantic date that lasts until the wee hours. You could stay up and watch the sunrise. You could sleep in, lounge around, get a cheeseburger for lunch, go shopping, eat ice cream for dinner, and go see a chick flick.

Don't all those things sound loads better than hating yourself for letting your body become a little less than unattainable 18 year old perfection? Your attitude about yourself would change. You'd start to feel that sexiness come back. You'd begin to walk taller. Your heart rate would slow down instead of speed up with anxiety when you needed to go clothes shopping. You'd take compliments better. You'd be comfortable in a group of other women. You'd stop comparing your thighs/stomach/arms to everyone else's. Your glow would start to shine a little brighter.

P.S. Carson Kressley is a mensch.