Thigh High.

Thigh High.

The one thing I inaccurately envisioned in yesterday's sexy-intellectual-librarian-fantasy bra ad was the not-touching-thigh part. In fact, the legs aren't even shown at all. Why then, would I fabricate such a memory? Because I'm actually thinking of the the mature-audience full-body-shot (tm Kip from Napoleon Dynamite) version of the ad that I'm not going to scan for you? Or because I'm obsessed with women's upper thighs? Not telling.

Anyway, even the very extremes of fashion marketing, i.e., the awful, awful maternity swimsuit models, teach us that you're supposed to have a good 2-3 inches of space between the upper section of your thighs. (First of all, what I would like to know is who has a perfectly right-angled, flat cooter?)

Yesterday, at lunch, John and I were discussing how we could tell, on our own bodies, the difference between being in shape and out of shape. I won't comment on John's baby he's growing, but when I said that being in shape vs. not being in shape = thighs touching vs. not touching, John said (BLESS HIS HEART AND LADIES, HE'S SINGLE) that thighs are supposed to touch and it's insane to think otherwise.

I'm not convinced. Based on the kind of shape I'm in, my thighs go from varying stages of pouring-all-over-each-other to not-touching-all-that-much, but I'll never have that 3 inch horizontal line dividing them, unless I stand with my feet more than shoulder-width apart. I'm not sure if this kind of thing is surgically enhanced in lingere and swimwear [small font: and nothing] models, but I'm guessing there's some guy who loves his job, quickly swifting the photoshop knife over any errant, jutting thigh to make a perfect Rectangle Of Evil. Dear guy with the cushy job, I hate you.

Also, speaking of Kip and full body shots, I'm going to keep my new banner up at least until quoting Napoleon Dyanmite stops being funny for me. Don't hold your breath, because I still quote Drop Dead Gorgeous almost daily and that came out in the 90s.