So like a GAZILLION years ago I was this hot to trot little number (does hot to trot age me? Fuck you) who truly thought the world was her oyster. Seriously. Nothing could stop me. I was cute, blond, kinda ditsy when I needed to be, and my large boobs truly helped me with whatever it was I needed help with.
You see, back then, being cute, blond, ditsy when you needed to be, and having large boobs, really were the only important things in life. Your worth was measured by the amount of hot guys who had your phone number stored in their Fave 5 list.
For those of you that just called me out under your breath while reading this: Yes, the Fave Five list wasn’t ‘invented’ back then yet… but you get my point.
For me, being able to cut the line at the local hot spots or flash my pearly’s for a free drink, were examples that I was sitting high on that pyramid called life. Call me snobby, but it sure made me feel powerful to walk past that homely girl standing at the end of the line without a prayer of a chance of ever getting in.
Yup, snobby. And clearly bitchy.
Well, Karma is an asshole folks. Because time DOES pass, and now… that’s me; homely girl at the end of the line watching the hot girls sashay into the bar with everything but the nipple on display. But here is the funny part: My clothing hasn’t really changed much at all, SOCIETY has. What I wore to the bar back then, is definitely not what they wear now.
Awhile back a big group of my ladies decided to hit up a local bar known for (at least I thought it was) servicing an older crowd but still being a place-to-be. We dressed up, painstakingly applied our make up, and arrived feeling like there was NO WAY we would be mistaken for women in our 30’s. Not a fat chance in hell… We.Were.Hot.
Apparently we didn’t get the memo: Clothing is optional. The less the better.
No matter where I turned, girls who couldn’t have been more than 15 were flashing ass cheeks, tits, and baring their midriffs…and truthfully, I’m sure I saw a few vag’s. Clearly it isn’t about LOOKING sexy, it’s about leaving nothing to the imagination for those boner-carrying ‘boys’ with a butt-load of cash in their wallet (and maybe a roofie or two).
This was disturbing, and not just because I have a 9 year old daughter who has these shining examples to look up to.
But also because, THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY IN HELL I AM SHOWING THAT MUCH SKIN.
So I guess it remains to be said: I shall forever be that homely girl at the end of the line (or until I am ready to admit that I am too old to be even standing in line). Because no one wants to see muffin top, cellulite, wrinkles, or saggy ass cheeks.
Not that I have those, I’m just sayin’.
And for your visual entertainment, here I am several years ago, dressed up for a night out. I think they would call this 'lounging pajamas' now.
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