  My body I've read a lot of posts about bodies. Body parts, functions, shapes, textures, colours, movement, abuse of, worship of... Most women consider themselves to have a relationship with their bodies. Love, Hate, or a combination of the two. Men seem to pay little attention to their bodies, unitl something marvelous (or horrendous) happens. I'm one of the women that has a relationship with her body. Parts of me are misbehaving, other parts are getting "A" grades.
On the whole, I LOVE MY BODY. Please don't take that to mean that I think it's perfect. Sweet jesus, it's not. But I love it. It keeps me up out of the gutter, it takes me places and lets me do funny things to it without complaint. It knows what a beat is and looks good when moving to music. It's still young and springy. It's aesthetically pleasing. If I stand naked in front of my mirror (everyone does it, so don't get all excited), I can look at my stomach, the smooth skin, that spot under my ribs where all the muscles meet. All those miniscule atoms aligned and attached. All those atoms put together to make a drop of blood or a hair. Quite frankly, I think it's a miracle. My little brain sends a little electric signal and my little finger hits the "a" key.
It takes much longer to type that out than it does to actually do it. All these processes associated with typing, taking place at electric speed. How can women hate their bodies? Yes, they're messy and inconvenient sometimes. Yes, they allow a great deal of pain before they crap out. Yes, we don't look like supermodels. Yes, we have celulite. Yes yes yes. There is still something magical about it. 
