When you hear the phrase “quality of life,” it usually drums up some sort of terminal health scenario.
Jorts is such an ugly term. It conjures up visions of dads in white socks with velcro sandals, cell phones clipped to their belts, waiting in line for churros at a theme park.
Andy has been a coach for four years. When they first asked him to coach, assisting with Jude’s Catholic Youth Organization’s soccer team through our school, I was admittedly a little hurt.
I am one of those people who walks around this Earth completely terrified of my own body.
If I could sum up my swimsuit aesthetic this year in one word, that word would be… boobs. And I love it.
Check me out on Good Housekeeping. I’m making peace with my thick, dimply legs, and loving every second of it.
I have had this window open for over a week. Every morning I walk into my office and click this tab to find a log in window pop up; “log in to save changes, click cancel to leave without saving.” I log in.
Every March I headed outside in a brand new bathing suit so Andy could quickly snap a photo of me in the frigid wind, my feet burning on the frozen ground, my pale skin all prickled and bumpy; all in the name of swimsuit confidence.
I can’t remember when I started playing with Barbies… I only remember playing with them way past the time it was considered cool.