Birdie Legs

I was born with the heart and soul of a dancer.

Someone else got the body.

I was roly-poly. And short.

My mom bought my clothes in the Pretty Plus department at Sears.

Anyone else remember that one?

She also bought me patent leather dress shoes.

Ecstasy.

I adored them.

It didn't matter what color...

Red, white, black...

I loved their every sound.

In my head, I was Ann Miller.

In truth, I was a little fat girl clogging through the aisles of the Piggly Wiggly.

My mom never had any trouble finding me.

Tap-tappity-tap-tap... TAP. TAP.

But, when I was 14, a miraculous thing happened...

I grew.

Well, at least my legs did...

Long, lean, and quite shapely...

The thrill was obvious.

I once shouted, "Just look at these gams!"

In public.

Yes, I was called down. ;o)

I still had my stumpy upper half...

Giving me the resemblance of an odd sort of bird.

The point was totally moot.

I danced with my brand new legs anyway.

Everywhere I went.

Whether anyone was looking or not.

I didn't care.

(Except for that time a picture of me busting a move at a high school dance made the local newspaper. BIG no-no for the grandaughter of the pastor of a church that didn't believe in having music, let alone dancing. Oopsy. *Blush*)

As the years have passed, health issues have caused me to dance more and more with my heart and soul and less and less with my legs.

I just want to be thankful that I can hear the music.