The Tiny Intersection Where The Colors Collide

I got a message this week from someone who knew me in high school. She said, "...I remembered you, did a search, saw your pic and said, damn Salena is still as hot as she was in H.S!"

Now she could have totally been lying (although I don't see what the motive would be), and honestly I guess I don't care if she were. She said I was hot in high school! I'm totally flattered and I'm not asking questions or delving any further. The words will remain just as they were said - forever etched in my mind.

Nonetheless, here is a picture of me when I was seventeen; in the height of high school. Now I obviously thought I was smokin' hot in high school too; how else could you explain this stylish caftan? It was my mother's and I must have thought it was fabulous because I remember borrowing it often. Perhaps I was trying to emulate a stylish lady of leisure who flitted around the house, caftan bellowing behind her. No wonder I always had older guys vying to be by my side but nary a high school quarterback (or geek, for that matter) in the bunch! But let's not look at that fashion faux pas...

Let's concentrate on what might be the SMALLEST WAIST in my recent memory!

To my delight, this comment and photo come at a perfect time since Vicki has got me on a grueling program that although there has been some minor slippage, has been going surprisingly well. I will never get to her teeny tiny wisp of a middle, and you won't be seeing me in a flowing caftan out here on the asphalt, but I do plan on seeing that damn waist again in the near future.