So what’s up with all the attacks on cellulite? You know that stuff under your thighs, butt, legs, eye lids that make you look like you have wrinkled muscles. Why does everyone want you gone? Why are there new cures on the market every 54 seconds?
I earned every bit of my cellulite by birthing babies, tolerating mega doses of prednisone and eating all the Blue Bell ice cream that has crossed the state lines from Texas to Florida.
I have relied on my cellulite to keep me from wearing cute bathing suits for the past thirty years. I have relied on it to keep my pants and panties from falling down, no belts needed. I have relied on it to keep me from becoming a gorgeous prima donna. Thank you very much cellulite for all these things.
Without all of this cellulite I would have been injured much worse than I was when I trip and fall flat on my cellulite dimpled butt. Bruises I got, but broken bones, not me.
Without all of this cellulite I would be without padding, wonderful, necessary padding that my grandchildren love.
The cellulite in my breasts (yes, that does exist), I wouldn’t be all cushy and comfy when holding babies. What good are skin and bones to babies? Useless I’d say.
Personally I don’t want some masked man vacuuming under my skin. There are better uses for masked men.
I don’t want to be ironed to remove my bumps. I don’t want to be lasered, lighted, or broke from treatments.
I don’t want to rub cream all over me 19 times a day. I might opt for one person rubbing cream all over me once a day though. But not if they have a medical license.
I don’t want to be shrink-wrapped.
I don’t want any of the 1,900,000 treatments available as confirmed by google.
Leave my cush alone. It breaks my falls, it makes babies comfortable, and it allows me to save for retirement.
From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
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