Dear Clothing Designers of America:

It’s June. Summer time! Winter woolens and spring coats have been packed away. I need new blouses and dresses for upcoming special events, so I stroll into the stores…and right out again. Everything is sleeveless. Camis. Tanks. Sundresses. Halters.

Your flimsy spaghetti straps mock me.

Here’s a photo of me sleeveless – Camp Pin Oak, Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, 1970. I’m the one with the red top, patriotic hot pants, anklets askew.

Those Pixie-Stick arms are gone. Long gone. And with them are gone my days of wearing sleeveless. I have lost my constitutional right to bare arms. Pregnancy altered my physique forever, making my upper arms unacceptably girthy. I don’t have many “body issues,” really, but I admit this is one.

And I am not alone. Big guns are a common problem for women. Even you, who design clothing for impossibly bony wraiths, must recall watching, transfixed, as a teacher’s arms shimmied and flapped in a bout of spirited chalkboard erasing? Yes? Good. Nothing can erase the image of teacher flab.

I rest my case.

Give me sleeves or give me death!

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