Once upon a time, possibly earlier today, there was a woman who tried on her new swimsuit in (mental) preparation for her first trip to the pool this weekend.  Looking over her shoulder into the mirror, a maneuver that is really never a good idea under most circumstances for a woman of her age, she discovered a disquieting situation. Where her thighs used to be, there were now these things attached above her knees that bore a vague and unfortunate resemblance to hams.  The pale, uncooked kind of hams purchased at Easter to be slowly roasted for a large buffet and served with jello salads.

That kind of hams.

“Oh, that is so very unfortunate,” she exclaimed, using more colorful and imaginative language that cannot be repeated here.  The dog seemed to nod in agreement, or was perhaps ducking out of the way in case the situation turned farther south.

She had joined a gym (again) that very morning, but alas, that would not likely help the situation by tomorrow.  Knowing that a brown sugar/molasses glaze makes the forementioned Easter centerpiece that much more appealing, she searched the cosmetics graveyard for a bottle of self-tanning mousse from last summer.  She baked on the sunny deck for one hour, turning every 15 minutes.  Wisely, she stopped short of lightly scoring and studding with cloves.  It did occur to me her, however, that a skirted Miraclesuit in a summery print of pineapple rings and maraschino cherries would be a nice touch.