My back side came to be in the 8th grade. Not that it wasn’t disproportionate before hand, Ev is going to be blessed in all of the same ways I can see it now, but puberty did not spare me. I remember walking up the stairs in junior high and a boy gasping out loud ohh my God who is that?! I turned around and he was shocked little ol’ Reggy from the block looked like JLo from the waist down. None of us were ready.
I’ve had a love hate relationship with my body as a whole and my whole ass for the better part of my life. By the grace of God and the help of my friends I have largely stopped waging war against my body in the past four-ish years. I’m still working on fully embracing it. Yet still times pop up when I surprise myself, shall I share…
Yesterday, on the international holiday of woman stuffing them selves into strappy contraptions, lace and satin, I abided. A few days prior J and I had perused through the negligee department of our local Dillards. He pointed at all things minuscule and see through while I held up floor length opaque frocks suitable for Grandma. At one point a passer-by laughed out loud at us. I reminded often, “Jesus Christ, Julius I’m somebody’s mother”. Truth. But the truth is also that millions of mothers on this planet are workin’ it. Being a mother in no way diminishes your sexuality if you don’t let it. My reality is it just seems so silly to dress like a stripper (yes, this is subjective) regardless of the holiday, company, or sobriety.
In defense of pubic hair, cotton granny panties, sweat pants and extra large t-shirts.
-Google gynecological health. Hair is for a reason.
-Silks, satins, Lycra and all things wedged up your butt crack do not breath and vaginas need to breathe.
-No body wants to sleep with under wires jabbing, panties creeping, garters and thigh highs. And let’s be real after the fun I’m going to pass out like a brown bear going down for winter hibernation.
-The realest of the real reasons, the pomp and circumstance lasts about 5 seconds. Then we get stripped naked any way. Let’s do the math: 15 minuets exfoliating, shaving and plucking. 20 minutes figuring out how the G-damn hookey contraptions work, 5 minutes getting your winged eyeliner just right- we know how every man loses his shit over that perfect angled tip… 5 more minutes tucking and sucking and doing 360s in the mirror, fuck gotta readjust at least one of the straps and bobbles. That’s a total of 45 minutes for 5 seconds of glory. I’m no mathematician but God damn.
So yesterday because I’m a selfless person and sympathetic to the cries of, “You just don’t understand what men want” (I may have asserted the aforementioned arguments a time or two) I strapped my self in. It took just as long as I thought. And then I turned a round. HOLY FLIPPING LORD I literally looked like a centerfold for some B rated nearly-porn magazine. I’ve got booty for days. Not news. But still somehow shocking in the right rig.
There’s some bizarre disconnect in seeing your business casual, mom hair cut self so sexualized (for me, if this isn’t your struggle then good for you sister let’s hear your raawwwrrrr). I don’t know if it’s easier to walk into a room where the spectator is the love of your life and one of the silliest people you know or if I would prefer a total stranger. It’s hard to embody a persona to fit your body. I did a good job of not taking myself remotely seriously. Because I just, couldn’t.
So, who won? No one and both of us. J learned that the impossible was a possibility. And I learned that I have to go through this entire ritual more. Not for him or any one else but for me. Because I’m so damn used to looking at my self covered in dog fur, tussled hair and ratty pajamas that my body in… well fitting… attire looks utterly foreign. Last night I literally looked in the mirror and didn’t remotely recognize the
girl woman before me. Even if I look like one of those rap guy’s girl friends and that’s not who I am in my heart of hearts I need to make friends with that reality. All of me is mine.
This morning I woke up trying to make heads or tails of all of this. So I put on leggings and I wore them as pants. Not because I love that look, but because I have to get used to seeing alllllllll of my ass in it’s full glory instead of tucking it into something in hopes that it won’t look so obscene. Hi my name is Reagon, and I have a ginormous beautiful full derriere and I’m not apologizing for it anymore. If it shocks you, entices you or repulses you well that’s your business not mine. I’m doing ALL of me from here on out.
Rawwrrrrrr, and love.