Cows and their body-image issues

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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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