Once she decided to go through with the photoshoot she set a few ground rules. She wasn’t going to starve herself and she didn’t want any retouching of her photos, except for “a few dimples on her thighs.”
“My grandmother said to me [when I was little], ‘Mother nature was not as kind to you as she was to other little girls. Maybe you need to start wearing makeup.’ I just never saw myself this way.”
She added, “I know what I look like before I go into hair and makeup, so it’s hard for me to go from that to [the cover]. That’s something I have to process myself.”
King had nothing to worry about.
When she arrived at the photo shoot in Mexico, she said photographer Yu Tsai made her feel like “Beyoncé, Jennifer Lopez, Halle Berry all rolled into one.”
“I felt so comfortable and cared for that I didn’t even have time to feel self-conscious.”
“I never in a million years thought I would be standing here in a bathing suit for Sports Illustrated [Swimsuit], but here I am, which says to me that sometimes people can dream, God can dream, the universe can dream a bigger dream than you can ever think for yourself,” King told Sports
Illustrated. “I would have never thought this was possible. This was nowhere on my bucket list. So I’m thinking maybe it was a dream that I didn’t even know I wanted because now that I’m here, I want it bad.”
Gayle looks amazing! I think it’s wonderful how Sports Illustrated showcases all different ages, body types, and races in their issue. We’re not all the same, and everyone deserves to be represented.
I Decided to Teach My Stepson a Lesson When I Got Tired of Him Littering Everywhere
A couple of weeks ago, I finally moved in with my husband, which was supposed to be the beginning of a wonderful chapter in our lives. I had no idea that my husband’s 15-year-old son from a previous marriage, named Dave, would prove to be a difficult obstacle to overcome. Though I knew there would be some period of adaptation, I did not expect such an attitude towards my efforts to make the house our cozy place in the form of piles of garbage that Dave, as if on purpose, left scattered throughout the house.
At first, I thought it was a temporary situation, perhaps a teenager’s version of chaos. But days turned into weeks, and the mess only seemed to grow. Empty chip bags, crumpled papers, and discarded clothes adorned every corner of our once-pristine home. It was as if a tornado of teenage negligence had swept through, leaving behind a debris field that would shock even a loving mother.
My comments and requests for cleanliness had no effect on him at all. It was like talking to a wall. I wanted to stop this and somehow decided to act outside the box.
One day, when Dave left for school, I came up with a plan. I was going to defeat this trash invasion, which required a strategy that went beyond mere words. Wandering around the house, armed with trash bags and determination, I picked up every piece of clutter that had settled into our home. I was on a mission to teach Dave a lesson in responsibility.
His room, the center of chaos, was my first target. When I walked in, I was greeted by clothes strewn across the floor, a maze of crumpled papers, and a collection of half-empty soda cans. Without pleasure, but with a feeling of determination, I began to put all the items that were scattered in garbage bags. Papers, cans, his clothes, everything was packed into the bags together. In the end, the room gradually turned from a disaster zone into something resembling order. I packed all the scattered clothes with other trash in a bags.
A similar fate befell the living room, kitchen, and even the bathroom. It was a time-consuming task, but I was sure that if words could not reach him, perhaps these bags would show him how much of a mess he left behind.
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