Cows and their body-image issues



I’m finally getting a chance to sit down and sort through hundreds of photos from my recent trip to Vietnam. While doing so I came across photos from my trip to Vermont last year. Oh, yay! I completely forgot about all these photos. Cooooool. I then proceeded to relive the memories as I poured over the images. You gotta love the impact of photography. Moments I had completely forgotten came zooming back to life as if they’d occurred yesterday instead of last year. It’s kind of a miracle.

A quick backstory: My best friend met a man, fell in love, got married and moved to Vermont all in the span of less than a year. Uhm. It was a whirlwind to say the least. She also became the instant step-mama to five children ages 10-18. She’s a goddess as far as I’m concerned.

Anyway, she had the good sense to get married in early October when the entire state of Vermont turns into a gorgeous tapestry of burnt umbers, golds and reds. I thought it was wonderful timing since it gave me a chance to fulfill my dreams of being a pee-per. I mean peep-er. Sounds naughty, doesn’t it? Peepers are what Vermonters call all the out-of-towners who flood Vermont in the fall to take photos of the beautiful foliage and landscape.

The hills are a lush green and dotted by quaint barns, rustic farm equipment …

… and lotsa cows.

This is my friend Ariane’s cow. I forget the cow’s name, it’s been so long since she and I were acquainted, but we were close once. Let’s just call her Bessie.


While staying at the farm I communed with Bessie regularly. We chatted over the barbed wire fence. We shared stories of our lives—hers in Vermont, mine in California. We felt each others pain. We bonded.


We talked about our body issues and my intolerance for her life blood—milk. The body issues hit sensitive nerves for us both. I never wanted to say this to her for fear of hurting her feelings, but I think her legs are a might short for her body. She seemed a little frustrated about it. She had a few neuroses about her spindly legs and gargantuan torso. She was an apple body type and she hated it.

But hey, who am I to throw stones? We all have body-image issues. I have a pear-shaped body and a bucket load of big-butt and stocky-thigh oriented neuroses. We each have our own unique crosses to bear. And they be heavy. I hear ya sista Bessie! I understand your pain!

So instead I concentrated on her jewelry.


Oh, my. That’s a nice lookin’ gold ring you’ve got there.


Oh yeah.

Ya know, that’s not a look that everyone could wear and look so snazzy. But sista, you really pull it off.

She preened a bit. She knew she looked good.

And then she licked her lips. Oooooh, yeeeaaahhh.


Holy cow! (I mean that in the best possible way!)

With a tongue like that who cares about your short spindly legs? Or the fab jewelry? You’ve got, ahem, other assets. If you know what I mean.

Rock on Bessie! Rock on.

(I try to be a glass-is-half-full kinda girl.)


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