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I've never really had a waist. Even when I was at my slimmest, my silhouette was very straight up, straight down. But I have learnt how to give myself a bit of waist by optical illusion. For this, bring on the belts.
When they get a 50-inch waist and a gorilla butt, it's ugly looking - and I think bodybuilding has become ugly looking.
There were days I could barely struggle into a size 46 or 48, months of larges and XXLs, and endless rounds of leggings with the elastic at the waist stretched to its limit and beyond - topped with the fashion equivalent of a tea cozy. And always black, because I was in mourning for my slimmer self.
I do fish. I think there is a connection between thinking and fishing mostly because you spend a lot of time up to your waist in water without a whole lot to keep your mind busy.
I have a fuller figure and sometimes like to hide my legs. Palazzo pants accentuate my small waist and make me feel a little like Katharine Hepburn.
As long as you smile, have sparkly eyes and stick your shoulders back, nobody's going to notice your bum or your waist or your feet, for that matter.
I got in trouble in Catholic school for rolling the waist of my skirt down.
I cannot feel my legs from the waist down any longer. But who cares? I look good and that's all that matters. And when I die of hypothermia for wearing formal shorts in winter, tell them to put that on my tombstone.
I concentrate on exercises from the waist down, since that is the laziest part of a woman's body.
And one of the things that I learned was you can't generalise at all about a woman in a veil. You can't think you know her story, because she will confound you over and over again. She may be an engineer or a diplomat or a doctor. Or she may be an unbelievable babe with bleached hair down to her waist.