Head, shoulders, knees and thighs: A love letter to my thighs

| Contributing Writer

The first time I realized I had “thighs” was after receiving a classic schoolgirl prank call in the fifth grade. I held my indestructible Nokia flip phone up to my ear, and I heard a little high-pitched voice say, “Your thighs are as big as a hippo’s! *snicker* *snicker* *dial tone*”

It was a befuddling way to communicate that I did indeed have thick thighs from playing sports my whole life—but the sentiment that my thighs were somehow something to be ashamed of stuck with me. Obviously, I’m not in the fifth grade anymore, and I have (somewhat) accepted my body for what it is, but there are days that I just can’t with my thighs. They make jeans impossible, do the cellulite thing when I sit, and just altogether make life harder and more uncomfortable. But when I think about what these big powerful squats-for-dayz thighs can do, I can’t help but be thankful to have them. Here’s a list of what thighs are good at doing.


OK, so maybe I’m crazy, but I like to imagine crushing my enemies’ heads between my thighs. It might be a questionable coping mechanism, but the one thing I can say about my thighs (OK, maybe I have more than one thing to say) is that they’re strong. Imagining a fist fight with my nemesis wouldn’t be very satisfying—I have stick arms—but a thigh fight? Now, that would be a battle for the ages. Seeing said enemy’s tiny, anger-inducing pin head smoosh and cower in fear between my meaty quads generally brings a smile to my face. Take Betsy DeVos. Thinking about a crushing thigh fight with her face pinned between my legs makes lying awake ruminating over Title IX being rolled back only the slightest bit more bearable, but it’s a tiny spark amid utter darkness. Betsy, you the WOAT.


Specifically, my phone. If I’m at some event where I’d like to be on my phone or NEED to check my phone—but it’s not socially acceptable—I’ll stick that bad boy between my big beautiful thighs and wait. At some point, I’ll get the chance to spread my legs a tad, like opening window curtains, and I’ll have the full ability to text a friend back, check the time, or, if I’m desperate, to see if my email inbox has changed from 13,702 to 13,703 unopened emails. Then, when a wandering eye pays a little too much attention to me smiling at my crotch, I can cover the black mirror once again, completely hiding my phone. Thick thighs, keeping your girl sneaky since 2009.


Hasn’t your mother ever told you to lift with your legs, not your back? I’ve learned that—as sexy as “bend and snap” might look from behind—it’s not worth the amount you’ll have to spend at the chiropractor. Thighs > spines.


Whether it’s that mildly embarrassing thigh-clap I occasionally produce when shuffling side to side while warming up for a soccer game or recently, when I was only able to clap with one hand against my thigh because my other arm was aggressively stepped on by an opposing player (I imagine thigh fighting her on the daily), I’m always able to show my appreciation. I can clap even if I don’t want to, or even if I don’t have two working hands to do it.


In recent years, I’ve noticed painting colorful murals on people’s backs has become a relatively trendy thing to do. I personally don’t have friends jumping at the bit to be covcered in paint by a girl whose closest formal art education was enrolling in the College of Arts & Sciences, so this Pinterest-esque activity seemed to be out of my reach for a while. But then one day, I looked down while sitting on the toilet and saw that I already had two large, relatively hairless canvases to work with. I’ve doodled on my thighs a couple of times. Nothing Instagram worthy, but I’ve never had too little space or any unwilling participants.


I’ve probably held more than a hundred different cups between my thighs. My thighs are foolproof, portable cup holders with ample suction if the shorts feature is being used (everyone knows the skin-to-cup method produces more friction). The ability to store any item between my legs is something I would never want to lose. I’m like a walking Swiss army knife. So many functions.