Are you fat? Are you muscular? Are you pregnant? Are you post-pubescent? Well, then you probably have stretch marks! Stretch marks are hideous, disgusting lines that develop when your body changes, marring the beautiful, airbrushed smoothness of your otherwise perfect skin. You should probably invest in a veritable army of creams, balms, oils, butters, and lotions before resorting to expensive laser treatments and tummy tucks to remove those nasty streaks from your flesh.
You know what? SCREW THAT NOISE.
Stretch marks rock. I once dated a guy who liked to run his fingers along the shallow, silvery lines on the sides of my hips. You know when I got those? When I hit puberty and I softened and my hips spread out and I developed the luscious curves that some women are known for. Whether you are male or female or anywhere outside or in between, you may have them on your breasts or your inner thighs or your backside or your upper arms or just about any damn place. All of those places that flesh out as we grow up.
Stretch marks happen with growth. You have stretch marks? Congratulations! You survived puberty. You developed breasts or muscles or gained a bit of weight. Hell, you might have even had a baby!
These things tell our story on the very surface of our skin. They’re like that scar on your knuckle from when you accidentally somersaulted over the handlebars of your bike or the one over your left eyebrow from when you had chicken pox as a kid or the one on your elbow where you knocked a girl’s teeth out when she tried to catch the same fly ball as you during a high school softball game. (Who, me? Couldn’t be.) Why don’t more women wear stretch marks and wrinkles and gray hair and scars as a badge of honor? As a sign that we’re ALIVE?
I hereby embrace my stretch marks. I earned those fucking things. I’m becoming fit and healthy and I don’t really give a good goddamn if they go away or not. In fact, I might miss them a little if they do.