Skinny Skinny Thunder Thighs

The game starts in bed on a Saturday morning with Dubsie lying face down on top of her Mummy. Dubsie waits in silent anticipation.

“Skinny,” Mummy declares, wrapping her hands around Dubsie’s forearms.

Next she touches the neck. “Skinny,” she says with a scientist’s precision.

“Skinny,” she proclaims, grabbing the folds of Dusbie’s armpits.

“Skinny,” she repeats while assessing her feet.

One body part awaits, and Mummy’s hands hover over it. Dubsie holds her breath.

“THUNDER THIGHS!” Mummy yells, clapping her hands against Dubsie’s upper legs and shaking them like Jell-o molds. Dubsie squeals in laughter. Her laugh hasn’t changed a bit since toddlerhood.

Everything else is changing too fast — the forearms, the neck, the feet — getting longer and stronger, leaving us with the laugh and her glorious cheesecake thighs, as the rest of her leans toward girlhood.