Girl talk 101. (p.s.).(Brief Article)

My friend P.L. has lovely wrists. At least that's what she said after we played the awful game that we women sometimes play -- the game of "What I hate about my body." We went through the whole gamut of things we would change -- hips, thighs, waist, feet, nose, bust, etc. "But," she said, "I have lovely wrists!" She held them out to me and twisted them around like a belly dancer enchanting her audience. Yes, she did indeed have beautiful wrists. And it was so good to hear her acknowledge it. With that, our sadistic game took a pleasant twist. Instead of complaining about things we hated, we talked about the things we liked.

For me, my hair was always a sore spot. While all the other little girls in grammar school had very straight hair worn in cute ponytails, I had to suffer with a frizzy afro. Today, however, I have made my peace with my `do, and I am generally happy, even though this New England humidity, does nothing for it. And I have always been content with my nose (despite the small bump that resulted from a direct hit with a speeding Jolly Rancher).

As our new game continued, we were able to come up with a few more things we liked. By the end of the evening, I think we both felt pretty good about ourselves. But the thing is, do any other women ever get to that point? Most of us just stick to the traditional complaining; after all, that's how we bond with each other, isn't it -- by spouting out calories and fat grams and proclamations like, "Don't even let me near that chocolate cake" and "I would die for a body like hers."

So what's the deal? We've heard all the logic and arguments; in our heads we know that Barbie couldn't exist in real life, that curves are considered sexy and that everyone's different. So why do we still torture ourselves with constant obsessing about weight and appearance and dress sizes?

Obviously there is no easy answer, or we women would have solved this and moved onto ...