Legs McGee

A few nights ago, I received a letter from a friend that I don't actually see that much. "Allyson," it somewhat said, "I'm so unhappy. My birthday is today, I just got rejected, and basically, things suck. Can we hang out?"

Immediately: "Of course! Absolutely, my pleasure."

So we did. I suggested salsa dancing at the Mad Frog, on a Monday night. Internet, I'm not gonna lie, it takes a pretty organized person to pull off salsa dancing at a dive bar on a Monday night. Not only did I swim my way through all sorts of three hour classes, but I had the sanity and mind enough to bring with me everything I needed for the day. And by "sanity," and "mind-enough," I mean that I did not actually try on my salsa dancing outfit before shimmying into it in the darkness of my car, and wound up masquerading as Legs McGee for the entirety of the evening.

I'm not gonna lie--my legs are pretty great. They get me places, they support me, and they've never failed me when I needed a little tap dance or a swift, little kick to somebody's extremities. They are, however, quite ALL-ENCOMPASSING. If you were to see me every day, day in, day out, rolling around in jeans and sweatpants, and then, all of a sudden, you're hit with the sight of me in a sassy, flirty, DELICATE little skirt, legs o' muscles long and thick parading around, you might just have a heart attack. Pleasing? Yes. Jaw-dropping? Probably.

I do not have the tiniest, skinniest little legs. I do not have the legs of models, of frail, wispy women, legs that say, "I walk the block, and wear ballet flats most days, and every once in awhile I get myself to yoga." I have legs of power. I have legs that run and jump and pound and play. I have legs that climb trees and pick up babies and fill out a pencil skirt. These legs are made for walking, for growing, for moving, for conquering. I use them. I sit, I stand, I bend, I tower. I loooove these legs. And I usually encase them. So, last night, when I got home and shot a glance of myself in the full-length mirror in the room next to me, I understood immediately why the turn of last night's events went the way they did. I understood why Ashley and I were immediately invited to sit at a table of four men when all the seats were undeniably taken. I understood why the professors at the table next to ours were listening to our conversation and making appreciative, meaningful eye contact with me. I understood why the waiter was so undeniably kind, and why I was indeed bold enough to hand him my number:

Power is evocative.

Unknowingly, I was unquestionably bold, last night. I had a great time, I had a small heart attack when I saw those legs o' millions at the end o' the evening, and I loved my body all the more for being so incredibly encompassing. Way to go, parents--you've made me to fit together.