Kira Rambles

My twin remembers a tour guide at Colonial Williamsburg saying men at balls would present their calves to women they wanted to dance with to showcase that they were rich. Nice calves meant one rode horses, which meant one had horse money. 

I remember hiking with my grandpa, mom, and sister as a kid and noticing we all have the same calves. 18th century money calves. In the words of my second cousin at a wedding when I commented on the universality of the family calf shape, the kind of calves people pay for implants to achieve. We come by them au-naturale. 

When my twin visited me at Fort Ticonderoga this weekend, one of my colleagues described her as a “stretched out version” of me. Like people haven’t tried to tell us apart by analyzing any difference in our physical appearance as identical twins before, especially our weight. So I guess learning to view solid calves as an 18th century status symbol came at a good time; it feels like a nice foil to some modern standards, like uncompromising thinness, that have less of a logical basis, although it’s crazy to think creating social rituals and clothing styles to prove one rode horses is the more logical option here.