I’ve never liked my thighs. On a good day they’re like rocky road ice cream, the appropriate mix of hard and soft, but on a bad day, they’re like rising bread dough that’s doubled in size. Unlike necks and foreheads, you can’t inject thighs with Botox to make them look better. Short of lunges and squats and lots of targeted exercise, there’s not a damn thing you can do about marshmallow thighs. The good thing about my thighs is I don’t have cellulite, something I attribute to good genes and that I pretend dairy products are poisonous.
Stop eating cheese and see how much better the back of your thighs look.