How I Learned To Love My Arms

I used to HATE my arms. I am still not satisfied with them. They are fat, lumpy, and have stretch marks on them. I have gotten over that, but I have never showed my arms off because when I used to not care what I wore, people would come up to me and ask me about my stretch marks. Some people would even grab my arms, touch me without asking, and inspect them like they were some kind of crime scene. I hated it. So I just began to hate my arms and covered them up. I figured if I covered them up, people would leave me, and them, alone.

Fast Forward to now. I am sick of having to wear 3/4 length sleeves in the summer time. I am sick of having to cover up in the abysmally hot Southern summer because of ignorant ass people. I’M OVER IT!!! I went to Rainbow the other day and bought three rompers/jumpers or whatever your want to call them. I bought black, navy, and floral rompers, and your know what… I look great. Well at least my parents, best friend/sister Khali, and I think so!

They are made from nice cooling fabrics, and let my arms hang OWT in the breeze. The shorts aren’t too short either. I think I am going to buy more sleeveless items like this from now on. Screw you if you don’t like my arms, and don’t go touching them either or you ass is grass! You know what they say, “two tears in a bucket fuck it!”