I like my clothes, though not enough to wear them. I like my jeans, but I'd rather be outside of them, which is why each year, I wait impatiently the arrival of warmth. This week has been the first time in a long time I've been able to go out in short sleeves and an equally short skirt and not freeze my butt off. I call that progress.
Dress up to feel pretty? No. And yes. I'm a fairly confident person, or so I like to think, largely, when I'm not swimming between small, sharp-tongue pirhanas. I have my moments. Still, it only takes one racy outfit to be reminded how prone I am still to weighing myself in the eyes of others around me. Men, often. Men primal in their expression of desire, or at times, subdued. Sneak a peak at my long bare legs like there's someone might catch them red-handed or race-hearted. Wives, usually, though not always. Lone men will sneak as easily as unavailable ones. As to not upset me, I presume. It won't do for me to catch you looking? Except, who's to say I want to catch you in the first place? Bare legs is a game of catch-and-release, after all. It's nothing too dangerous, surely.
The women are a different matter. The older I get, the more I know what I look like inside my bones without looking. The more confident I become and easy in my own skin. I feel myself radiate, and it catches the eye of other women around me. Exchange a smile, wide as our cheekbones, with a beautiful pencil-skirt girl going the opposite way. Some might even say, a grin. Cheeky, but then how can you stay sad when you know you're wanted? Isn't that what we all crave? To feel somebody needs and wants us? Another woman, on-the-phone woman, older woman. Platinum blonde, directing a hapless husband over the waves. Over the candle stand. Over my browsing.
Out of the corner of my eye, feel her looking, feel her weigh me up in her eyes, must be worth about a bag of dirt, all in all. Some women look at you more fiendish than men, wanna rip you apart, think you're running the same race, except I'm a lazy piece of ass. Don't mind running at all. Some, more, so many more, look with questions sewn under their eyelids. There's a power game between some women, but me, I think that's bullshit, so I wait for her to finish her call, then smile and make a joke.
At once, any potential animosity dissipates. Fumes of lavender. What's the point of bickering over short skirts or fighting for the attention of subpar players? Hands down one of my favorite things about getting older has been the complicity I find among others of my kind. Female kinship is a rare, much-valued thing, one we'd be wise not to trade for bite-sized, hearts-in-pocket attention.
And it's funny, you know, because the less you look on others with insecurity or contempt or rage or envy, the more it strikes you - how many gorgeous women there are. Each one with a cheekbone high and proud or loose-shimmy hips or eyes oscillating between colors. Every damn woman has a something to her, a stowaway beauty.
And I love it, I love it, I love it. Then think how many of these little beautiful everyday things I might be missing if I got caught inside my own head, under the hem of my own short skirt. Silly, human things.
Happy early spring :) Happy Women's Day 🌼
View or trade
LOHtokens.@honeydue, You have received 1.0000 LOH for posting to Ladies of Hive.
We believe that you should be rewarded for the time and effort spent in creating articles. The goal is to encourage token holders to accumulate and hodl LOH tokens over a long period of time.
!LADY
View or trade
LOHtokens.Use !LADY command to share LOH! More details available in this post.@hive-124452, you successfully shared 0.1000 LOH with @honeydue and you earned 0.1000 LOH as tips. (4/50 calls)