A Treatise on a Woman's Wings

It's been joked about so often that people don't listen anymore: upper arm fat on women. It appears seemingly overnight. One day you're tight as a drum and the next day you're brushing your hair and think you may be having a sudden epileptic seizure because your arm won't stop moving.
My arms jiggle more than the first waterbed, the one created before they decided to include a baffle to squelch the waves.
I often think of my triceps as sails, beautiful billowing sails, aloft in the slightest breeze. Then reality comes back and I want to wash the sail with a soft cloth and fabric cleaner and tack that bad boy back to the boom. I've thought Velcro would work, just attach the fuzzy end to the lower flap and the sticky end up around the deltoid somewhere -- if I flip both of my arms forward at once I think I can create enough velocity that the skin will swing up and automatically reattach. Kind of like loading up my weapons, a new kind of "gun show!" It's that ripping sound that seems most disturbing, so I probably wouldn't take them down and let them air out often enough.
I briefly thought of a hook-and-eye contraption, but attaching the actual "eye" would require stitches of some sort and I'm desperately afraid of needles. Besides, it might rust should I perspire or get caught in a rain storm. (If my arms are securely positioned I might reconsider sleeveless tops and therefore be caught out in any sudden moisture. Gotta think of every angle, you see.)
Then there is the button and buttonhole thought, and I could even change the buttons to match latest trends! A simple pearl button for evenings out or a little wooden number for casual picnics with the family. But the buttonhole, the buttonhole is the catch, pardon the pun. A hole in my arm? That just sounds so unsightly.
When I'm at the newsracks I read all the latest magazines attesting to the idea that they have finally figured out the cure for bat flaps, but every single one of the exercises seems to boil down to tricep kick-backs and dips. (Check any of the latest women's fitness issues if you don't have the visual of these exercises. Trust me, they're printed in there somewhere.)
I've wrenched both elbows and broken the legs of two chairs trying those little exercise wonders. I'm done now. My furniture can't hack it any more.
I need to sign off now. I keep my elbows pinned to my sides whenever I write, type, drive, virtually anything, and sweat is starting to roll. It's not ideal, but at least with my arms pinned down I'm not going to flap myself off of the chair. Be glad you're not here, it's ugly.