Peel off my skinny jeans and you’ll find some colorful secrets: blue ropy veins, red spider capillaries and brown spots. (As for those wobbly inner thighs that even my killer spin classes can’t seem to firm up, let’s not go there.)
Shopping for new spring clothes was a pre-Easter treat when I was a kid. My mother and grandmother would take my sister and me, and I can still remember the thrill of finding a perfect pair of patent leather shoes: white the first few years — and oh, the trauma of those first few scuff marks! — then shiny black when we hit the magically mature age of 8.
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