I was coming out of Walmart the other day when I saw a woman walking toward me wearing short-shorts, her cellulite-riddled thighs on full display. Struttin' her stuff like she was a runway model.

The nerve of her. And her man was with her!

"Does she not have a mirror?" I thought. "What must her man be thinking?"

Most women develop cellulite, to some degree, as we age. I have seen it look like gentle ripples on the water, and I have seen it look like Hurricane Hattie was blowing the waves on shore.

This woman was closer to the latter.

I have a medium amount of cellulite myself, and I try my best to hide it. I believe I once heard that "a pair of long shorts covers a multitude of sins." Even my night attire is designed to cover the bad and accentuate the good.

But then I have to wonder...am I the one with the issues?

Maybe this woman is in tune with herself enough that she can not only accept her flaws but reveal them to the world as a part of the true person that she is.

I have to wonder, though, at a woman who can embrace and reveal herself in that way.

I'll bet she never fakes it in bed.

She probably tells her mother-in-law the truth about the cheap set of glasses she got for a housewarming gift.

When she is on the phone and wants to get off, she probably never lies and says "someone is at the door."

When her husband asks her to share her fantasies with him, I'll bet she doesn't say, " It’s you and me on a desert island..."

But then when you are so honest with the world about who you are and what you look like...

Can you still cheat on your taxes?

When your overweight friend asks if the dress makes her look fat, are you obliged to say yes.

I'll bet she tells small children "Santa ain't real."

She would be the one to let you know when you have bad breath or something dangling from your nose.

I have to wonder if I have listened too long to the cheerleaders in my head who constantly chant ''cellulite isn't right, cellulite isn't right."

As women, we tend to pick our bodies apart, finding fault with every imperfection and nuance. We spend millions of dollars each year in efforts to paint and polish ourselves and to wax and melt away our blemishes and bumps.

Then many of us go out to dinner with men who have toenails that it would take a hedge trimmer to cut, beer bellies hanging out from under stretch shirts and hair growing out of their ears long enough to plait.

The cheerleader in many men's heads must chant, "ladies like bellies, ladies hair. Ladies like toe nails out to there!"

So to the cellulite lady, I have to say, bravo!

Regretfully, I can’t say that I will join the cellulite parade. I'm not there yet. But when I'm pulling the hairs out of my chin with tweezers tonight, I might leave a couple in her honor.
***
D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County, S.C., and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat.
 

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