I am shameless

There comes a time in a woman's life when she just has to OWN who she is.  And be shameless about it. 

That time is now for me.

The larger than life rump, the oversized thighs, the double chins, it's all good and should not be hid under a bag any longer!  I will make efforts to retreat hubby's big shirts to the back of the closet and let my backside shine like the sun! 

Can I actually do it?

God, I hope so.  Hiding is becoming exhausting.  There are only so many long shirts I can wear!  We women of a certain age have the emancipation of not caring anymore about what other people think, say, or feel.  One of the luxuries of not attracting the young man's eye anymore is NOT CARING and there is a freedom to that.

But.............I still look at the young men.  I still search for their eye to seek mine.  Innocent and reflexive, I've been doing this unconsciously for my entire life.  I enjoyed it and revelled in the approving eye.  What am I saying?  Do I need this anymore?  I'm a happily married woman with an 8 year old son.  What do I care if some handsome slacker 24 year old looks past me anymore???

I do still care.

I don't want to turn back the clock though.    Don't get me wrong. My twenties were so turbulent and dramatic with the men.  Drunken fights that turned ugly, cheating men, my own ambivalence and yes, cheating, and looking, looking, for the next cool guy.....not a lot of fun.  Dates were horribly stressful and depressing when the next day there was no call while I waited.  Or worse, they liked me, and they were the uuber dork.  Always the king of all dorks who became obsessed with me.  And the hangovers!  Oy vey!

I guess if I was to be honest I would say I liked my looks better back then.  Woo, what?  You're kidding!    I remember a short story by Dorothy Parker called "Big Blonde" that I read in college.  How I feared I would become  her, sitting on some bar stool, staring into my vodka tonic and trying to catch any man's fancy while avoiding my mirror reflection.....a woman of a certain age, like 40's or 50's perhaps.  A woman who became lost and lost her youth, thus losing her shot at love.  A sad woman.  I feared I already was her and the story was somehow based on me.

But, I am not her.  I fought to stay away from the lure of her.  The lure of the easy drunk night and the chaotic divorce and the fucked up kid.  I did not want to be like Big Blonde.  I kinda look like her, but I am no drinker  anymore.  The actual process of getting drunk is so single focused.  All other responsibilities fade as the drunkeness  rages forward.  I have Irish descent, norweigan descent and german......the irish is the side of the alcohol problems.  I have billions of focuses in the course of the day. Not one thought, one single focus, on getting drunk.    I drink water, coffee, tea, hot chocolate, and an occasional glass of wine at a restaurant.    The luxury of the addict, is that is all the goal is.To Be  Drunk.

I won't be crying in my beer as an old woman.  I won't be barfing the next morning and asking, "what did I do?  Did I do something stupid?"  when the inevitable blackout surfaces.I stopped boozing when I was 36 years old.  I'd really be something to see if I had kept drinking.  Ay caramba.

I've got more important things to do.    It does suck when the looks fade, but hell, I was never a raving beauty; just considered cute.  And there is so much more in life.  Marriage and all that it entails.  My son who is so achingly beautiful and who could care less.  Human suffering and hunger.  Homelessness.  Sprit life if I'm  inclined to believe it.  Animals.  Life force.  Work.  Respect.  Shamelessness. 

True to form, I cannot get away from this image I have to live in each day.  It is there and it is reflected back at me from all shiny surfaces. 

It is not me.

I am inside here, trying to come out gracefully from my hidden room.  Time to own all parts of me, even the mental fricks and fracks that are not so positive.The deficits in character that I would torture myself over.

   For what is a soul unless it receives self love and  self nurturance? Oh yea, and  I can still admire handsomeness too.  I probably will until the day I die.