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.
.
