By Sue Murphy
Don’t look now, but summer is almost upon us, the season when women all over America pull out their sunglasses, roll up their sleeves and…recoil in horror. Oh yes, my friend. Those are indeed your arms.
You probably haven’t seen them in their full – glory — for a while. With all the winter weather (and the spring thaw and the re-winter freeze again), your arms have been tucked away in sleeves for months and months, sometimes under many cozy layers, and apparently, they have been having a wonderful rest because they are now visibly a lot more relaxed than when they began their hiatus last October. A lot. Think personal dolman sleeves. Think flying squirrel.
Sadly, upper arm loosey-goosey-ness is not usually counted as a woman’s best feature. You never hear anyone say, “Did you see Mavis’ arm flaps? I’ll bet she has a six-foot wingspan! How I envy that woman.” Nope.
Arm extension is a peculiarly female phenomenon, and I know we shouldn’t care. A strong, confident woman would simply say, “To heck with it,” declare an As Is summer and let her arms flutter as they may, but my guess is that, equally inflicted, even Wonder Woman would slip off to her Wonder Cave and do a few rounds of bicep curls.
And that’s the kicker. The only way to fix the situation is through concentrated physical exertion. It’s hard to understand why this is necessary. Even though your skin is slack, your arms have not been slackers. All winter, they’ve been lifting and toting and scrubbing and hugging. They’ve stuffed turkeys and decked the halls and dyed Easter eggs. They’ve pushed grocery carts and vacuum cleaners and dragged trashcans to the curb, so it’s going to hard to break it to your arms that the only way out of this predicament is to do more of the same, and this time, with a little more oomph.
Oh sure, there are women out there who routinely prepare for this seasonal eventuality by working out on their Curl-o-matics over the winter. To them, I say, “Good for you,” and I mean that in a kind and kind of genuine way. Really. These are the same women who start seedlings in egg cartons in April instead of waiting for the annuals glut at the garden centers, the ones who have their Christmas shopping done in September, the kind who, if they are kind at all, do not mention these things to those of us who are not so logistically inclined.
Another fun thing: If your skin is of the paler persuasion, your winter sleeve hibernation has left your arms the color of day-old oatmeal, the ghastly hue of those deep-water fish who never see the sun. Your feet also pale during their winter cover-up, but you can revive them with a zippy manicure before they slip into sandals. There’s no such thing as an arm-i-cure, and unless you want to risk heat stroke through continued summer layering, your poor arms won’t be slipping into anything. They’re just going to be hung out there for the world to see.
So, here’s what I’m thinking: Those of us who missed the Curl-o-matic interlude should band together, seek each other out at barbecues and garden parties, close ranks and try to create a new pale, wobbly norm. We’ll put on happy faces and try not to think about the fact that the swimming pools will soon be opening, that someone will eventually want to go to the beach, and that will mean (shudder) bare legs. Oh, the horror. ϖ
