I’m not really sure how to write this post without sounding like a shallow, conceited bitch.
But I was once a beauty. In my own way. I never, ever looked good in a bikini. A serious handicap when you attend college here:
I was often told I had “icy” good looks. Think more this:
And less this:
I had a friend who looked like the above and we would go out together, and we attracted a totally different type of man. Which was excellent because no one wants to fight with their best friend over a stupid guy.
But there was never a shortage of male attention. In my teens, my twenties, I was disconcerted by the attention. I was scared and annoyed by it.
Now? I would kill to have it. Sometimes.
I think of what I would need to get a portion of it.
Trust me, I have considered them ALL. I live in a place where most moms look like this:
Remember in “Clueless”? Cher’s mom dies as a result of a “routine liposuction”? Yeah, that won’t be me.
I want my daughter to NOT rely on her good lucks. I want my daughter to respect the aging process.
My daughter tells me to wear dresses and “be pretty”. I don’t know where she gets this shit.
Meanwhile, I remember the time I was hot enough to get this:
And drove one of Hollywood’s best looking men around in my car, all the while rolling my eyes because I thought he was a huge dork.
Meanwhile, I take a photo with my iPhone and see my double-chinned visage on accident. And cringe.
Is that really me?
How do I come to terms what I once was with what I am and what I will be?
And why does it matter SO MUCH?