bitful

UK-based weblog on technology, queerness, language and fitness

My legs take me everywhere I want to go

A man's legs, wearing jeans and stretching on a lawn'My legs my legs - my lovely looking legs, check it out!'

Oh don't get me started on my legs: I don't think I was ever happy with them, and I have wasted so much time making lists of all that is wrong with them, list starting something like (but not necessarily limited to) this:

  • there is no hair on the back of my calves and on the outside of my thighs (but there is everywhere else);
  • they are pasty and podgy;
  • my toes that look like baby new potatoes that have been left in a cupboard for too long;
  • my right knee jams every now and then since February 2004, and that has put a stop to some of the more elaborate positions in sex acrobatics;
  • and…
  • and also…

… and also stop. I do have legs, and there are two of them, and they are a matching set and take me everywhere I want to go - very very fast, most of the time.

Even the knee dodginess could be looked at by a doctor, if I could drag myself to the GP (step one, overdue by four and a half months but performed last week, was registering with my local surgery).

So now I'm going to go out to eat my sandwich on a bench and put my feet up. I want my legs to help me kick about for a long time, and they deserve some rest.

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