The Genetic Jackpot !

Genetic Jackpot! I definitely did not hit it. (Waa-waa-waa-waaaa.)

Did you? Do you know someone who did? Oh, come on. You did not! And you don’t know anyone who did. And if you do think you won the Genetic Jackpot…you. are. delusional.

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Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, and all my beloved ancestors: I’m not complaining. At all. I’m proud of my DNA components, actually. Because they’re mine.

So as I sit here on this Friday night sipping my glass of Rodney Strong chardonnay, I shall give you the short list of what the DNA Dispensary issued — and neglected to issue — to mo′i. And yes, I’m talking about just the shallow, superficial, fun Friday night stuff. (Probably, also, because it’s way easier and so much more fun to laugh at the exterior, extraneous stuff rather than confront and expose my innumerable inner flaws and imperfections.)

So here goes:

*** My chin takes up a rather large portion of my face. It’s in my lineage. It goes way back.

I think somewhere out there I have a gene-pool connection with Jay Leno.

And if by some verrrrry off chance you are reading this, Brenda M. from my hometown of Porterville, I’m doing just fine with my superlative chin, thank you very much, despite the fact you called me “HORSE HEAD” in high school!!

Remember that? Huh? (I so wish I could find you on Facebook now.)

*** At birth my thighs comprised approximately three-quarters of my 7 lb., 6 oz. birth weight. And they still do. Fact. And as you know if you’ve read this blog before, my DNA has served up extra helpings of cottage cheese on those ample thighs in my older years.

WHATever…

*** And what happened to my little toes? They’re like little “mini me’s” of the other four toes. They’re all lined up perfectly, and then…the little toes are way down there.

And Teri, you know exactly what I’m talking about! When we were in Carmel and I was trying on sandals, you asked, (very loudly, I might add, while in the shoe store), “Where is your little toe?!”

WHATever…

*** Do the letters AA mean anything to you? My breasts are… not voluminous. My “girls” are much

more appropriately called “toddlers.” But! They’re God-made, not man-made or synthetically enhanced.

I so do NOT envy those CCC-E-cupped friends who complained all those years about the excruciating pain they were in as they hastily ascended their stairs. Neener-neener-neener. I so do NOT have that problem.

*** And yeah, so there’s been a pretty thick application of crepe paper surrounding my eyes over the years, which I know is DNA related.

So be it.

These eyes have also seen a lot of spectacular things. Like this:

Here’s the thing. The imperfections are what makes us all perfect. And unique. And special. We should embrace and celebrate all those imperfections. But do we?

I would like to think I’ve abided by one of my Mom’s Golden Rules, which is, “Do the best with what God gave you.”

And that is why I wear a lot of boatnecks and bandeaus. Because I really like my collarbone. I do think I’ve been blessed with a nice collarbone.

And for that I’m thankful.