She insisted I looked “super skinny,” which in our fucked up sexist, fat-hating world means, “I think you look great!”
So then I asked her if she was feeling well, pushing the ungracious envelope a far as I could.
She insisted she was fine and so I finally accepted her compliment. I even hugged her, because the truth is I haven’t been feeling all that good looking lately.
“What’s your diet?” she wanted to know. It took every ounce of self control in my body not to answer, “Lots of sex, wine, and smoothies.” I said, “The no-diet diet,” instead.
The Neighbor hasn’t been as amorous. He’s been asking for TN Time and knowing introverts as I do, I always oblige, with no hard feelings.
But I can’t help but feel a little low in the sexy/pretty department. It’s likely why I’ve been posting so many pics here lately.
I refute the notion that I shouldn’t rely on outside feedback for confidence; it’s a mixture. I need a look in a man’s eye, a friend’s kind word and my own inner sense of badassery. Fuck anyone who tells me I should feel differently about myself.
And so I took myself on a little walk today in that Spring weather I waxed melodic about the other day and it was glorious.
My hips swung, my breasts bounced, and I filled my lungs with river-cooled air.
I am not skinny, nor – god forbid – will I ever be — I imagine only illness could scrape off my layers of voluptuousness.
I am feeling much better.
So between my walk today, my sweet interlude with TN last night where he told me again how much he loved my breasts — not just “breasts,” but my breasts — and his kisses on my stinging palms, I am feeling right as rain and really pretty good looking again. Skinny or not.