She’s Got Dimples On Her But She is Pretty
This week I received a Groupon offer for half off an anti-cellulite treatment. This isn’t the first time I’ve received an anti-cellulite offer. Cellulite is one of those things I’ve always thought women are just born with, whether we’re fat or skinny, young or old – right? I have always assumed cellulite was just there, lying dormant, until it manifests itself after too much cheese or Kentucky Fried Chicken, kind of like chicken pox and shingles. But now it seems I need a “treatment” for it, like it’s a disease or something.
I’ve had cellulite on my thighs since Lynda Carter was Wonder Woman. I’ll bet if you look close, even Wonder Woman had cellulite – she was no skin-flint you know. And did Wonder Woman waste time worrying if her cellulite was offending anyone when she was trying to save the world every week? I doubt it. Now after all these years I learn my cellulite is something so grotesque a treatment has been invented to eradicate it. Who is my cellulite offending anyway? Sure, I’ve got some dimples on my bum, but is that really hurting anyone? It’s not like I walk around in a bikini all day with my bumpy butt in anyone’s face.
I have to admit, after planning a beach vacation in a couple of months, I began to wonder if I shouldn’t at least look into this anti-cellulite treatment. But since I’m going to be on a beach in the southern hemisphere with absolute strangers, do I really care? Besides, other countries seem to be much more forgiving of women’s imperfections than Americans. I saw more cellulite on a nude beach in Jamaica than I care to remember, but they seemed okay with it, so what’s the big deal?
When I was little, and a bit of a roly-poly, my dad would sing, “She’s got dimples on her but she is pretty,” a twist on the old WWII-era song, “She’s got freckles on her but she is nice.” I giggled when he’d sing this song. When I was young, dimpled butts never had a negative association; I thought it was something that made me pretty. Then I grew up. And anti-cellulite treatments were invented. And anti-cellulite advertisements came into my inbox every other week. Is someone trying to tell me something?
I wish we could go back to the time when chunky women with a little cellulite on their thighs were the rage. During the Renaissance, women with a little extra dimpled junk-in-the-trunk were considered the ideal. Women not only didn’t concern themselves with such nonsense as anti-cellulite cream, but artists dedicated their entire lives to painting these voluptuous babes. I bet if you asked women from the Renaissance if they ever thought one day women would be pressured into spending hundreds of dollars for an anti-cellulite treatment, they’d tell you that was just plain silly. Which it is.