Last week I read about two female writers who are looking for women to contribute essays to a book about body image. I could write their whole book. Bad body image is my middle name. My father never would have wolf-whistled at a femme fatale or barked at an unattractive female, but he offered his opinions, nonetheless. I often heard him say a woman had piano legs or a low-slung caboose. I spent a lot of time standing on my bed, looking in the mirror above my dresser to see if my ankles were fat, then turning backwards to see if my derriere dragged.
     I always hated my legs. No matter how much I exercised to make them skinny, they never were. I wanted long, tapered gams like the ones in the picture Matt Lauer showed the Today show audience last week. It was Meredith Vieira's first day on the job. Her co-host held up an old copy of Esquire magazine with a picture of Meredith posed in a chair, her long, slim legs…Ms. Vieira admitted her legs no longer look like that. They had once, though, I thought, enviously.
     Should it matter? No, but it does. I'm at an age where women, if they haven't gone under the knife already, begin to wonder if it's time. Liposuction, tummy tucks, brow lifts, the possibilities are endless. Many times I walk past a mirror and take a second look. No longer startled by the woman staring back at me, sometimes I gently push up the loose flesh of my jaw line and try to tuck it behind my ears. Or smooth back my cheeks so the skin is pulled firm and forty-ish. Would I be willing to undergo surgery to look like that forever? Not today.
     I don't think Mom would mind my telling you this: she had her eyelids lifted years ago, before it became fashionable. Drooping eyelids—a genetic trait—can be hazardous. Believe me. They get in the way, hindering vision. But the thought of someone slicing the tender skin above my eyes gives me the willies, even though Mom came out of surgery looking like a movie star. With two black eyes, she had to wear sunglasses everywhere she went.
     Mom knew where to draw the line, though, unlike Joan Rivers who looks like a sacrifice to the god of plastic surgery. If she doesn't stop soon, Joan's smile will wrap around her entire face. I like Diane Keaton's idea better. Ms. Keaton said she wouldn't go under the surgeon's knife. She said if 50 year old women have plastic surgery, young women won't know what 50 really looks like. Arianna Huffington would agree. Ms. Huffington, who has written a new book, On Becoming Fearless, says women should not be afraid to own their age. She says we have "fears and insecurities" based on impossible standards. And that is really it, isn't it? We should be who we are. Not who anyone else is. Shakespeare said it best, "Comparisons are odorous."
     I like to joke that Mom left me her droopy eyelids, saggy-baggy arms, and saddle bag thighs. But Dad left me some pretty heavy bags, too. I think it's time to give myself a big hug and stop lugging this bad body image around. My back's not getting any younger, either.