I have seen the enemy....and it is us

Most of us women seem to be our own worst enemies.

Bou has posted a pretty funny piece about

swimsuit shopping

and it got me to thinkin. Pretty dangerous thing for me to do, I know. It's soooo much better when I don't think.

At any rate, I started thinking about how much time us women have wasted worryin and frettin about stuff like this. How much time and effort we've spent to choose just the right swimsuit that hides what we want hidden or the perfect pair of jeans that makes our asses look bigger/smaller/tighter/higher or the wonder bra that's supposed to do the same thing as the jeans...only in the boobage area.

How much money we've spent on lotions and potions that are supposed to erase those lines and wrinkles, even though we ALL know that they just simply don't work. How much pain we've gone through to get our faces lifted, our boobs enlarged and our tummies tucked.

How much of our lives has been just totally wasted on this effort for "perfection"?

And for what? Why?

Every, single woman that's had any kind of cosmetic surgery will tell you that she did it for her, not for others. I don't buy that completely. I think that there's a teeny, tiny part of 'em that does it for complete strangers. And the sad thing is, the vast majority of those strangers will never, EVER notice those things.

I dunno....maybe I just think totally different than other women. I've often thought that I think more like a man in a lotta ways. I think this might be one of 'em.

But when I'm out and about, I don't look at other women's imperfections. Well....unless they're like....GLARING imperfections. Those 500 pound women who try to wear bikinis are kinda hard to ignore.

I'm talking about the little things that seem to be sooooo important to us...but in reality, no one else sees. Or if they do, they don't really care one way or another. The people that truly love you...that know you..don't see those imperfections, anyway. And THOSE are the people that should matter. THOSE are the people who are important in our lives, not some stranger.

The cellulite on the thighs of a 40 year old woman. Uh...like...so what?. She's forty. She's supposed have a little cellulite. The wrinkles on the face of a 50 year old woman. Good for her...she's probably earned every, single one of 'em. That little bump on the bridge of the nose of a 35 year old woman. Big deal. It makes her look interesting.

And to those women out there that DO look upon other women so critically and are constantly comparing themselves to others...and I know they exist...well...I guess since they've evidently reached perfection themselves (insert sarcasm), they've got nothin better to do. People like that just simply don't matter to me. And they shouldn't matter to other women, either.

Now, I don't mean that I don't care a bit about how I look. That's not it, at all. Of course I take pride in how I look. I never go anywhere without at least a little makeup, my hair combed, decent clothes on and a spritz of somethin smelly. I don't wanna look (or smell) like a bag lady, after all. But to worry about my flabby arms or the little pimple that's popped up on my chin (thank YOU, menopause) or my poor, deflated boobies...the things over which I really have no control...well...not so much.

I have more important things to think about. It's HIGHLY likely that the stranger I pass on the street does too.

My imperfections are MINE. They make me who I am. They make me unique.

If other people don't think so...well...fuck 'em.