A long, long spiral of delight winds down from heaven; it kisses me between the shoulder blades. Wind stirs the lilacs and the fruit-tree branches, clotted with wet blossom. The air is sweet and something eases in my eye sockets. It's all okay.
Oh lovely, lovely, lovely: the way the biceps dives under the pec major, the way the curves of both carom off the curve of the deltoid.
If one more woman apologizes to me for being ten imaginary pounds overweight, I am going to scream.
1) You are not overweight
2) It would be no damn business of your massage therapist if you were
3) You are so beautiful that it makes my heart sing
Let's just get a few more things straight, while we're at it. Your ass is not too big. Your ankles are not too thick. Your legs are not the wrong length, they're not too hairy, and they're not the wrong shape. Your belly is not too large / soft / pendulous. Your skin is not too wrinkly / blemished / pimply. Your upper arms are not too flabby. Your hair is not too thin / coarse / straight / kinky. And it's not the wrong color. Oh, and your toes? They're bashed up a little and the nails aren't perfect. Neither are mine. That's because we walk around on them instead of keeping them in a box on the shelf.