We stood in line at one of the rides at Disneyland while my oldest, affectionate son, rubbed my arms. Although his hands were filthy, and stuck to my skin as he rubbed, I withheld from dismissing his sticky love fearing that my time between his showing affection to me in public and pretending that he doesn't know who I am was getting shorter. At one point while we were talking and snuggling he began flicking the dandling skin below my arm. I was a tad annoyed with the fact the the fatty tissue at the base of my arm was getting so much attention, but I chose to enjoy the moment of his affection anyway.
When we arrived home I stood in front of the mirror and pretended to wave at a neighbor to see if the skin flopped around more than necessary for a gal my age. Flashes of over weight grandmas flashed before my eyes with their under arm skin flap hanging and flopping mid-waist as they greet fellow neighbors and family. Step too close, and a child could be knocked off of his feet by the sheer trajectory of the flap in full swing.
I needed assurance that my arm flap was not dangling to unforeseen depths after being given so much attention. I was feeling self conscience after my sons gross notification that I definitely had more skin dangling than I should, so this is what I surmised: Push ups.
My armpits ache and now I cannot cross my arms to lift the bottom half of my shirt for removal. It hurts to wash my hair. I have recovered from the lunges and now I have push up strain. So that is it. Through all of my muscle pain I am covering cellulite with the lunges, and avoiding arm skin dangle with push ups, so that when I turn 70, I can wave at neighbors and not knock my grandchildren into next week with my "flaps." I am always thinking, sore, but always thinking.
And so, that is it. The buck stops here. I will not, under any circumstances, do sit ups I absolutely draw the line at lunges and push ups. Those six-pack abs are for girls in their twenties and that, I am not.