Although it’s not my typical genre of music, I have to admit that I don’t mind breaking it down to a little J.T. now and then. Apparently, though, not often enough for the lyrics to provide any sort of motivation. It’s not that I’m slumping around my house in oversized pajamas all day, or even refusing to shave my legs, it’s just that, well…it might be time to bring sexy back.
An acquaintance I follow on Twitter posted a statement the other day that made me stop in my tracks. Rough paraphrase: “It’s sad when a woman stops trying to be sexy and settles for just being kitschy cute.” For a moment I wondered if he had seen me in Target earlier that day and was inspired to Tweet about me.
But if I can just whine and be pathetic for a minute: It’s just easier to wear jeans and running shoes when I go to the grocery. And it just doesn’t make sense to change out of my comfy sweats since my office is only a few feet from my kitchen. Besides, the sweat pants don’t pinch my stomach when I decide to finish off the rest of the ice cream. And I do dress up when I have a meeting. Well, sort of–isn’t it considered dressed up if you wear your nicest pants?
Anyway, you get the point. Not helping my motivation to put forth any effort to make a change is my wonderful husband, who must need a new eyeglass prescription, or else has mastered the art of imagining that I am a supermodel. If I were to base my level of attractiveness purely on his commentary, I’d be applying for the position of body double in Angelina Jolie’s next movie. And my dear sister, who is sexy in her own right, has developed the solution of dressing me up when the occasion is too important to be left to my own devices. All I have to do is show up on her doorstep dressed to go out (in what I would consider appropriate) and in a flash of high heels, jewelry and hair pomade, she will adeptly turn me into a version of myself that actually turns heads in the good way.
But honestly, how much longer can I rely on my husband’s blindness (true love IS blind, you know) or my sister’s sympathy (she secretly loves it, I know) before I wake up one day and realize I am a frumpy, middle-aged housewife. Oh wait.
So today I thought I’d start the process of bringing sexy back. I put a little Justin Timberlake on Pandora for inspiration, picked out something sleek to wear–with buttons and zippers and everything–and went on a search for my long-lost lip gloss. I had the best of intentions.
But it’s kind of cold sitting here at my computer; So I gave in and put on my red granny-style cardigan and my fuzzy socks. No one can see me anyway….