I'm bringing sexy back.

When does life stop being a runway? When can I breathe in my jeans again? Can I please just eat a pint of Cherry Garcia and enjoy the sugar buzz regret-free? Having the right labels doesn’t label me as right, and the number sewn into my pants has as much to do with me as Kim Kardashian has to do with rocket science (or winning "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader" for that matter). So instead of running on this figurative ..and often literal…treadmill in the unwin-able race for hotness, I’ve dismounted to focus on my sexiest body part. My brain.