What the fuck is that? I thought as I read the Cosmo article about the 5 characteristics most beautiful woman in the world shared. Thigh gap? I had to continue to read the article to find out what it meant. This was in a time before Google (which honestly was a sad time. I freaking love Google! Back then we actually had to go to the library, open a home encyclopedia or ask several people. I mean, the work put into knowledge??? Geez).

As it turns out, a thigh gap is when a girls thighs don’t touch in the area right under the ginny (pronounced g-eye-knee) down to the knee. Whoa! Well, I am pretty sure I had never experienced a thigh gap in my life. I mean, since coming out of the womb! For whatever reason, this article intrigued me…and made me jealous of girls who did have a beautiful thigh gap. And as this point in life (early teens) my thighs became a huge thing for me (literally sometimes).

To this day, they, and my butt, are my biggest insecurities. Like, why couldn’t the Kardashians be a thing when I was growing up? And BBL’s, and snatched waists with big hips….I mean, I probably would’ve been a much more secure person. But no. You know who was popular when I was growing up? Kate Moss, Heidi Klum, Gwen Stefani….I think if you put all three of them together you couldn’t come up with a full set of hips and buns. The only girl in my corner was Janet Jackson in 1993 when she wore jeans and a tiny tight top. Her flat stomach and round booty were different from everybody else, but she was still popular. You bet your ass that I went out and bought low rise jeans and all the cut off tops I could afford.

But, back to my thighs. I literally have stories about my THIGHS. I’m telling you, they were a thing for me. Here’s one: when I was 15 I went to Honduras with my aunts husband (my Uncle Rudy) for 2.5 weeks to visit his family. My Aunt Daphne would meet us later in the trip since she couldn’t take too much time off work. Why all the adults in my life thought this was a good idea, for a 15 year old girl to go with my native Honduran uncle, his daughter/my cousin Liz who was like two, to a country that spoke Spanish when I did not, is beyond me. But, whatevs. The first couple days were ROUGH! But then I got into the swing of things and thankfully my uncles nieces were about my age and spoke some English so I had someone to hang out with. The older niece (Cynthia) started taking me out and about with her friends to do what teenagers in Honduras do. Basically it was the same thing American teenagers do, but with the added protection of guards armed with automatic AR rifles, full military attire and bullet vests walking everywhere. (Yikes! Culture shock # 13 on my list of many). Anywhoo, I kinda became a hit with the guys. I looked like people they had only seen in magazines and on TV. Many said they’d never seen blonde hair in person before. And they didn’t seem to mind my curviness. Now mind you, I had lost about 30 pounds the summer before so I wasn’t chubby, but I was still curvy (But with no boobs…which is so unfair). I used to say that God was in a hurry when he was making me and grabbed a skinny girls top half and a chubby girls bottom half and threw them together before sending me down the uterus shoot. Thighs! Sorry, yes. Back to thighs. So one night we are hanging out with about 30 other kids and the boys were coming over to talk to me. The ones that could speak English stayed longer and asked lots of questions. This one guy says, How tall are you? I reply, Five Eight. Then he asked, How much do you weigh? I thought this was pretty rude and I was a bit taken aback. Ummm, 128 or 130 I think. He pauses a sec then says, No way. Not with those thighs. How much do you really weigh? DUDE! Are you fucking serious???? I couldn’t believe what I just heard. And why did his English have to be so fucking good. I could have chalked it up to bad translation. I flushed, told him he was kinda rude and walked away. As I did he yelled, But I don’t mind chubby girls! As if I was going to turn back around and be ok with the fact he just called out my fat thighs. Bruh, please.

In the next story, I was in 8th grade and I had lost a bunch of weight going to Weight Watchers with my Aunt Chrissy so I was feeling pretty ok with myself and started to wear shorts for the first time in my life. Still a hard thing to do though. I am that girl wearing shorts, stopping every few steps to pull the wadded up shorts material outta my NON thigh gap that gather up as I walk. Whatever. In any case, this day I was at my cousins house and eating dinner with her fam, wearing shorts, and when I stood up to take my plate to the kitchen my cousin said, You better be careful. You have the thunder thigh gene that’s in this family. If you don’t watch out you’ll have mega thunder thighs. As I laughed and shrugged it off, I started thinking I better go into the bathroom and immediately throw up the dinner I’d just consumed to avoid any calories that may go straight to the new Thunder Thigh situation I just found myself in. I didn’t do that, but I wanted to. And to protect my cousin, she meant no harm. She was just pointing out her insecurity and was trying to help me avoid it.

Another time, when I was in my mid twenties, AND THE SKINNIEST I had ever been in my life (due to a bad break up and depression – a great diet combination. Try it if you’re looking to lose lbs quickly. But still, alas, no thigh gap. The world is so unfair!) I decided to go out to a bar with a friend. This friend was older than me by ten years or so, but she was SO hot. I mean, her body (gym rat) was beautiful. Her face was beautiful and she was very nice (did I mention the world is unfair?). We met in the parking lot of Bobby McGee’s (memba that place?!?!) and started walking up the path to the front door. As we walked, we were passed by two fellas who were leaving. These men happened to be African American and were big, like NFL player big. They passed, we all exchanged niceties, hello, hello, smile, smile and as they got behind us, one yelled, Hey Gorgeous! We turned around and I yelled back, which one of us are you talking to? And he yelled back, You! The one with the thick thighs! Oh, ok, ya…me…that’s for sure. Cause Kristen DEF had a fucking thigh gap. I sighed, turned around and headed into the bar. I am pretty certain the rest of the night I looked like Eyore and drank 6 too many vodka tonics.

And here’s another. I told you! It was a thing. I have more, but I’ll leave it at this. When I was a senior in high school I was granted the position of being the HS Mascot, a Zapata, which is a Mexican bandit that wears bullets across his chest, a big sombrero, has a gun on each hip and has a large black foo man choo style mustache. Because this costume is not totally kosher for a high school kid, who is also a blonde girl, we’d wear a cheerleading skirt and a Spanish style blouse for some of the pep rallies and other events. When I went to the uniform company to get fitted for my skirt the lady asked me what size skirt or pants I wore. I replied, 7/8. Are you sure?, she asked. (Umm, ya bitch…WTH). I answered, uh huh. She got out a tape measure and measured my waist and hips! Well, she said, you do have a tiny waist….like she was giving me an atta boy for at least not ALSO having a huge gut or something. Then she came back with two skirts. The first size was 9/10 and the next 11/12. She says, I brought two. These run small. I’m not sure the 9/10 will fit so I brought a bigger size. Damn bitch…..you just ruined my lunch plans of meeting Brandy at Weinersnitchel. I told her the 9/10 will fit as I grabbed that skirt to try on. As I lifted the skirt over my head and started to pull it down like a Tshirt the look on her face was one of disbelief. She looked as me as if I was crazy! I’d seen that look before. So, I gave my usual explanation…..Oh, I have to put skirts on this way cause in order to fit my waist, they wont go up over my thighs. She stayed silent. I pulled the skirt down, fastened the zipper in the back and Walla, the 9/10 fit. As she stared, she slowly said, Well, I’ll meet you up front to pay. This same experience was almost relived to the T when I worked for Bobby McGees as a cocktail waitress and the uniform was a black cheerleading skirt. My manager then pretended not to see me pulling the skirt over my head.

I bet you this much, I am 100% certain that Kim Kardashian pulls cheerleading skirts over her head when she’s wearing them to make sure the waist fits just right.

Pic 1. Me in the Bobby McGees skirt Pic 2. A Zapata