I Am Not Sexy
When I was twelve, I had this mental image of my future self. I would be one of those smart sexy tomboy girls, really tall, with a nice tomboy ass and big round tomboy tits. I would wink at boys and they would start salivating. My mouth would be full of witty sarcasm, and all the boys would be blown away by my sharp wit and cunning intellect. (And also my tits.) Life would be so great when I turned sixteen.At sixteen, I figured I was just a late bloomer. I wore padded bras so people would know I was a girl. I hadn't had a growth spurt, so I was barely above five feet two inches. And I had enormous hips that my ass wasn't really making the best of, but my thighs were. My thighs loved being short and wide, because that meant they could look enormous! Which meant everyone could look at them and admire their girth! And besides, I knew that no one in my high school class had anything else occupying their minds but the tonnage my thighs contributed to the school's second-story weight-bearing floors.
Needless to say, I fucking loved puberty.
I'm not sure quite when it happened, but over time my ass and thighs have compacted to a more muscular, less jiggly density. Which is about the only positive thing I can say. I am still five feet two inches. I still have no tits to speak of. When I try to wink, I usually fuck it up such that what comes out is an accentuated, non-sexy, slightly manic blink. I don't think that's very cool, even though I wanted to be Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie when I was a kid. My hips look less big than they did when I didn't know that growing hips were a normal part of puberty, but they're not bootylicious. I think the shake-that-ass mechanism is broken, and I don't think I'll be getting my money back.
My voice is manly and doesn't say Come-Hither. In fact, I believe it says Go-Thither or whatever the appropriate opposite of Come-Hither is. My eyebrows are unruly and regularly attempt hostile takeover of my forehead. I shave them sometimes, but I worry that my hand will slip and obliterate them entirely, which isn't an acceptable compromise. I sweat more than any non-primate should sweat.
Since I've been engaged to Joe, I've worried about these things less. In the winter, my legs go unshaven for months at a time, and he doesn't leave me. My mouth is full of snide comments that are more or less witty and/or cunning, depending on whether or not anyone has pissed me off. This happens easily, as I am not a very nice person.
Which is why I would tell my younger self: Shut the fuck up and quit whining. You're not sexy and you never will be. But there's worse things in life you could be missing.
Like arms. You couldn't even really type without those.
