As we approach warmer weather, women over a certain age, say 60, will once again face that nagging fashion dilemma: to go bare, or don’t even dare. I’m not talking about decisions regarding skimpy bathing suits – that shop closed a long time ago. No, I’m talking upper bare arms, the part of the body that tends to sag and flap thanks to our good friends, time and gravity.
The other night I was dining with some BFFs, and some how the conversation rerouted
from global warming to apparel without sleeves. There is a certain logic to this
detour. Anyway, even the most petite among us stated she was starting to feel awkward about going sleeveless. OMG, I thought. Upper arms have become the new neck.
As the only person at the table who had dared to go bare, the seeds of doubt were immediately sown. Although I’ve been a dedicated triceps toner, I began to wonder if perhaps the jiggly, Jello-look had finally caught up with me. I immediately reached
for my sweater, blaming my cover-up on the excessive use of air-conditioning in south Florida establishments.
Later, needing an objective opinion about the true state of my upper arms, I turned to my
“Honey,” I said, “what do you
think about my arms?”
“Your arms? I haven’t given
much thought to your arms.”
“My upper arms. Do you think
they’re in good shape?”
“As compared with who?”
(Thank goodness he didn’t say