My arms aren’t usually that big of an image contention point for me. But the reality is that they’re big and flabby. I have that disgusting under-the-arm flab that women get when they’re nearing or into their fifties. Or older, if their in shape. My triceps are a testament to the fact that I’m a writer, not a body builder.
So, here goes:
My arms are pretty. My arms are pretty. My arms are pretty.