So yesterday, my friend Christiane and I went to Scott’s and piddled around for a few hours. I bought some things, she bought some things.
Then I found a Barcelona chair and ottoman that I think I want, only they’re black, and I really need brown, so we had to leave there and go to City Issue, where I have bought not one, but two, credenzas in my distant past.
I cannot get enough credenzas, and if my house were bigger, I’d have more of them.
So at City Issue, there were two different chairs, side by side, but they didn’t have ottomans, which was kind of the whole point to start with, but they were comfortable.
I was sitting in one of the chairs and Christiane was sitting on a couch across from me, screwing around with her phone, so I had to tell her to come try out the chair.
So she comes around and squeezes past the coffee table to sit in the other chair and then starts rubbing her knee which she has bumped and says, “I have really long femurs.”
Which stunned me. Because I am the only other person I have known to have this affliction, let alone say it out loud.
Because I have really long femurs, and once said so on an airplane when the person in front of me hissed at me about my knees being in his backside when he leaned his seat all the way back. This statement seemed to take him by surprise, and a look of a different sort of consternation crossed his face, so I’ve never said it again.
But now that I know I’m not the only one, I’m going to tell everybody about my long femurs.
I’ve always just said that I’m disproportionately long-legged (…I am, in fact. That, or disproportionately short-torso’d…), but I think now I shall also just say that I have long femurs.
I think we all have to celebrate our long femurs. I really do. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.