Back in my early twenties, a friend of mine said this during a conversation. I can’t remember the exact conversation, only that this sentence was said in the presence of me, a girl with cottage cheese thighs.
My first thought was, “This guy has no idea the prevalence of cottage cheese thighs.” Because seriously, if this is your criteria for dating a woman then let me inform you that something like 80% of women have cellulite and even skinny women can get it. So, just try to hang in there as bet you can, fellas.
My second thought was, “Did I inadvertently send him a signal that I was interested in him and he had to be sure to shut me down before I became overt with my attraction and embarrassed him because nothing is worse than attracting the amorous attentions of a fat girl?” Because, though I didn’t have any interest in him, I’ve been known to unintentionally “flirt” with people.
My final thought was, “Well, if he thinks that, then that must be what they all think.”
That’s the thing. It’s very easy to take the opinion of one person that you know and consider it a validation of the consensus, particularly when that consensus only acknowledges something when it’s the butt of a joke, object of ridicule, or target of shaming. And since I’ve had this dairy condition on my lower appendages since the latter years of puberty, well, I’m just unloveable, now aren’t I? Thanks for the confirmation, friend!
I still think about that cottage cheese comment all these years later. It’s both a burden and a blessing. On the one hand, it’s a quick answer about any sort of appearance questions I might have about myself.
Should I wear this shirt? Is it flattering? Should I get my hair cut like this? Will I be attractive if I do? Should I wear the red lipstick or the nude?
Then a voice reminds me that I have cottage cheese thighs and I’m like, “Hot damn! It doesn’t matter because I’m hideous by default. No pressure! What do I WANT to do? Red lipstick it is!”
Other times, I wonder if I should wear something like shorts or a shorter skirt or dress and that voice reminds me about my cottage cheese thighs and then I have to debate on if I want to deal with the venom that may be slung my way because I’ve got dimples on the wrong body parts. Do I have the fortitude to deal with the looks, snickering, and/or nasty comments if I go out in public?
And then I put on Capri pants because I just don’t feel like dealing with my cottage cheese thighs that day.
I can’t deny that their existence does make my life easier sometimes. People can just look at me and my dairy laden legs and go, “Oh no. I want nothing to do with that.” They don’t bother getting to know me. They don’t even have to ask my name. They don’t waste their time.
More importantly, they don’t waste mine.
Cottage cheese can be pretty tasty for those who enjoy it.