Dear Right Bicep,
I know this is a little odd, but I wanted to write you a letter. Tell you how I feel, you know. Please, don’t be afraid. I’m not a stalker or anything … it’s just that, well, I think you’re hot and all that.
I mean, you are really sexy. It’s not that the left bicep is all that bad, but lugging around your baby and then toddler for the past couple of years has kept you in really good shape. You actually look better than you did in high school. You’re sort of the Madonna of biceps. Really. I’m not just saying that.
I’ve been admiring you for a while, and I’m eagerly anticipating your unveiling with the arrival of summer and spaghetti straps. I hope I can keep from staring. I see the belly of that muscle flex in the easy strength that hard work brings, and I can hardly tear my eyes away.
A lot of women complain about the effects of pregnancy, childbirth and parenthood on their bodies but few celebrate “Mommy Bicep,” at least not out loud. It’s a sight to behold, and it’s hot because it didn’t happen in a prissy gym or in front of some lame video. No, it’s from continuous hard labor. It has a purpose other than looking hot—it supports your baby while you haul groceries and other cargo (which keeps the left bicep from complete atrophy) and makes you tough. You’re like Linda Hamilton in T2. You rock.
I want you to know I’m going to be totally faithful to you. It’s not that I would cheat on you if the triceps were equally worthy of my attention … but they really aren’t. So let’s just focus on us and enjoy this relationship while it lasts, eh?
I didn’t want another day to go by before telling you how I feel.