I admit to being a delusional victim of ladies magazine ego enhancement. I am not the size that I once was, but I spend enough time naked with myself that I have come to appreciate my new shape. I'm curvy. And, voluptuous, though not in the seemingly offensive way that an old friend took it when I said it to her.
And, given my Cosmopi-Marie-Glam-Allure education, I have been known to think it's appropriate to flirt with Dr. Boy by occasionally showing up naked. For example, if I'm headed to the shower from the bedroom, I might slowly disrobe en route instead of in private. Woo-woo, I sashay about in my skivvies or less. 30 seconds of exhibitionism in my otherwise decidedly Baptist day.
And why do I do this? Because I don't have a full length mirror, and my head won't go 180 degrees around. In the morning, in the bathroom, I can admire my front, my sides, my back. But my ass is blessedly shielded from my view.
Not to worry. The good people at Target have installed 2 mirrors in every dressing room. One in front for plain 'ol viewing, and one in the rear for posterior assessment. Very helpful for selling shorts. Not so good for my self-image. At one point, I bent over in my undies to pick up a pair of shorts in my underwear, and caught a good look of what I look like. Ouch. Faire du rollerblade, dude, for thine ass is nasty.
Sigh. XOXO,
M
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Um, baloney.
Also, in the space of an hour, from the time I left your apartment to the time I got on the bus, two total strangers in Manhattan felt compelled to tell me I have a nice ass. If they're gonna tell me that, they are SO gonna tell you that. Forget the Target mirror. Go for a walk in your neighborhood!
Post a Comment