Subjective

Last night, I suggested to Tim that, should we manage to reproduce, we should hope that the child gets my teeth (they're straight and I didn't need braces) and his legs. He looked at me rather quizzically, so I clarified, "I really like your legs."

"Well, I like your legs, too," he said.

And THAT is just love, because, objectively speaking, I can pretty much assure you that my legs are not desirable. I loved my grandmother a great deal; when I think of her, the picture in my head includes her sturdy, tan, knock-kneed, and unabashedly cellulite-ridden legs, her welcoming smile of straight white teeth, her elbows hyper-extended and her soft upper arms dangling as she held her arms out to hug me. As a kid, I very much enjoyed touching her arm fat (her skin was very soft), especially when it swayed as she turned the steering wheel. Nevertheless, when I realized that, through the magic of DNA, her limbs were also mine (minus the tan), I was not exactly filled with delight.