So a newish and very funny blogger friend (Sara at Sara's Organized Chaos) is contemplating doing one of those glamour boudoir photo shoots.
I said: “DO IT DO IT DO IT! I nearly did ‘back when’ but chickened out. When I was 35, I could rock a boatload of sailors. Now, I might possibly tip that boat if I stepped on in. So do it now.”
Which has got me all thinking (dangerous at the best of times…)
This girl has spent her lifetime railing against the glass ceiling. She took a Commerce degree and rocked business back when shoulder pads were big. Okay, HUGE. And liked them like that.
So what you’ve got here is one super-saturated power chick at the top of the fast food chain. Treat me with respect bub, or I’ll stomp on you with my stilettos. Oh, and pass the lipstick, ‘cause I wanna look sexy.
Why the flaming hell do I want to look sexy? WHY? I’ve got a perfectly good husband. I’ve got a few good male friends who might be willing to step in if hubby doesn’t make it to the 10th round. (Of course I’m joking. Why wouldn’t I be?) There is no possible way I am looking for ANY new male attention of the prurient kind.
Yet here I am, fixing the long hair, wearing the underwire, cursing every new pound (the old ones should stop inviting new fat to the party). Good thing the cleavage is still fine. We’ll just show that off a bit. What the freaking hell is wrong with me?
“You can’t fight biology,” friend Jeannette says.
Well, my biology is sure freakin’ driving me crazy. Can you spell contradiction? Oxymoron? Hypocritical?
Gotta run. Teaching fiction writing tonight and I need an hour for my hair.