I Have Bigger Muscles than Denise Austin

Before any of you think about messing with me (Hey, I’m just being proactive), there’s something you should know. I could kick your ass if I wanted to.

I’ve had a penchant for arm-wrestling ever since grammar school. I’m not sure how it got started, exactly, but once it did, it was ON. You see, I am blessed with BBG - the Big Biceps Gene. I get my monster arms from my mom, whose biceps put Lincoln Hawk’s to shame. My sister also inherited fierce upper arms, so my poor dad lived day in and day out knowing that every woman in our house had bigger muscles than he. And on the days he forgot, we’d put him in a headlock until he screamed “uncle.” I love that childhood memory.

So when I was befriended on Facebook the other day by someone named Mama Lou of the Strong Woman Show, I realized I had missed my life’s true calling. How did this happen? I must have blinked and, bam, right past me. Here I’ve been, wasting my God-given talent by writing — writing! — all day when I could be arm-wrestling in a leopard-print leotard. “She’s powerful. She’s potent. She’ll rip the arm off any rival foolhardy enough to dare challenge her…”

Why didn’t anyone tell me this when I was growing up? I’ve read What Color Is My Parachute and I’m pretty sure leopard-print was never an option.

My favorite part about this picture, btw, is my mom’s expression in the background (white shirt).