When I was twelve, I lived in Cheltenham England. I attended Charlton Park Convent school. My schoolmates were all girls. One day, as I was walking across the gym, another girl, Theresa Davis, to be specific, said to me,
“Do you ride horses much?” in her very British accent.
“No, I’ve never ridden a horse,” I replied.
To which she responded, “Well, you’re awfully bow-legged, aren’t you?”
Well, at 12 I didn’t even know what bow legged was.
So, home I went and asked the official knowledgeable one.
“Mom, what does bow-legged mean?”
She explained the condition that, from that point forward, made me very self conscious about wearing dresses or skirts…anything that showed my legs.
When I was in college, at Florida State University, we loved to go swimming at night in the sink holes around Tallahassee, FL (not a terrible intelligent practice, but we were not terrible intelligent, despite our grades which might indicate to the contrary.) I remember being embarrassed to go swimming at first, because of the guys that were with us…that is until those morons started their ridiculous “song” which they sang whenever we went swimming.
“I love to go swimmin’ with bow-legged women.”
And there you have it. I was bow-legged at 12 and embarrassed. I was still bow-legged at 18 and somehow, it was “special” and I am still bow-legged at 48…and I don’t care at all…well, not much, anyway…