I used to pray what might be a ridiculous prayer, okay, it wasn't an actual prayer per se, but it was a hope, a desire, a vision, if you will. I used to hope that if my baby would turn out to be female, that she would inherit her father's mother's cheerleader legs and not my bowed legs. She got his mother's legs! They're straight and cute, cute! I'm overjoyed! James has cuts in his thighs and ahem, bottom, and so does Wendy! Like a little muscular Woo Loo! A vertical cut on the sides of her thighs and the most compact, cutie pattoottie caboose I ever changed. Like two little isolated mini hamburger buns plopped down above two little hamhocks. James' mom has legs that are so shapely and darling with little sundresses, and I'm just so pleased that Wendy's legs are little Mini Sharon legs. Yay God! My legs, at her age, were like comma's. Little freaky "C" shapes. And I never rode horses.
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