My poor brother. One day, as our family gathered on my parents’ back porch in the summer, he dared to jokingly say something about my thunder thighs. He didn’t mean any harm by it; he was only lovingly teasing me. But I’d heard about it enough in high school, especially as a cheerleader who had to wear a cheer outfit to school twice a week, and those old wounds hadn’t mended. I suppose even in my early 30s, I was still sensitive when hearing my legs referred to in that way. I leveled him. Of course, I’m sorry for it now. I should have been able to laugh it off, make fun…