Tuesday Stuff

Pass the Bottle


Heads or Tails is hosted by Barb a.k.a. Skittles. Thanks Barb!

This week’s prompt: Heads – Bottle


Thought-provoking title, no?

I don’t mean bottle as in an alcoholic bottle (I don’t drink), I mean a bottle as in a lotion bottle.

When I first saw the prompt for this week’s Heads or Tails I thought of two possible subject titles:

“Pass the Bottle” and “Bottled Up.”

Though I would have preferred to talk about being bottled up, about how it’s dangerous to keep resentments and frustrations bottled up inside of you so that it finally bubbles over and the person explodes over the silliest and most inconsequential thing even though what they are REALLY upset about has nothing, whatsoever, to do with their explosion, I didn’t think I could sufficiently talk about that without revealing private information and thereby making the person who has all of this pent-up energy inside of him detonate and spew icky black anger all over my walls and make a mess for me to clean up.

Wow, that was a long sentence.

So, I wrote about it in a password-protected post and now, I feel loads better. Writing private posts really is therapeutic – bloggers, you should try it sometime.

Since “Bottled Up” was not an option, I thought I would go with plan B and write “Pass the Bottle” because it’s the safest option and suitable to publish on the Internet. Okay, maybe not suitable, but definitely safer.

I’m an Amazon woman. I’m 5’10 inches tall and I’m a size 10, on a good, non-bloating day. I have broad shoulders. I have thick arms. I have pudgy hands and I have perfect birthing hips.

I am not, even in your wildest dreams, small, petite, cute, little, pixie-like, adorable or feminine.

These are simply not words that would come to your mind if you were to meet me in real life. I am a giant. I loom. I intimidate. I am someone to look up to – not figuratively, but quite literally. I am she-woman, hear me roar.

I’ve accepted this. And most of the time, it doesn’t bother me. In fact, most of the time, I’m not even aware of how Amazon-ish I am until I see pictures of myself with my husband’s family who are all thin, shorter and more beautiful than I am.

And my mother-in-law wonders why I ABHOR family pictures with me in them. Because those pictures are an ugly, painful reminder than I’m simply not all that feminine – at least, MY definition of feminine. And though I don’t usually have a problem with self-esteem, the amount I do have dissipates into thin air whenever I see those pictures. Those family pictures are like those “I Spy” pictures – “Boys and girls, can you spot the Amazon woman? Wow! That was fast!”

Though I respect myself and my husband enough to keep myself clean, (semi) toned and thinned down, I don’t spend a lot of time on my appearance.

Sure, I put makeup on, I comb my hair and brush my teeth but those are the extent of my beauty routine. I do just enough to conform to society’s expectations.

I do not wear lipstick. I do not put a lot of thought into my clothes (unless I’m having lunch with my husband and I do that because 1. I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his co-workers 2. Because my husband deserves to see me looking my best, 3. because I deserve to see me looking my best, 4. because it makes me feel, and dare I say it, act better when I look polished and professional).

I do not wear nail polish. I do not wear jewelry, not even my wedding ring most of the time (which irks the husband and something I’m working on).

I’m not interested in fashion. I am not interested in shopping, of any kind. I could care less about purses. Or shoes (most of the time).

I don’t simper. I don’t bat my eyelashes. I don’t act girly (unless I see a big, ugly bug/spider and then all bets are off), and I don’t play head games. I have no patience for gossip. I have no interest in wasting time or energy on what someone thinks of me (for the most part).

In short, I’m an Amazon – both physically and emotionally.

But there is one (or two, possibly three) indulges that I do allow myself – lotion.

I love shopping for lotions. I love looking at the pretty bottles. I love popping the tabs and taking deep, appreciative sniffs of Rainkissed Leaves, Sensual Amber, Japanese Cherry Blossom, Coconut Lime and Black Amethyst.

I love squeezing thick, fat lines of lotion onto my freshly shaved legs and then spreading it over my skin. I love how the lotion turns the texture my otherwise tough skin into something soft, supple, and feminine.

I love how people comment about how good I smell whenever I go out. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel special. It makes me feel like a woman.

Lotions are one of the few indulgences I allow myself. I think mainly because it’s not obvious – no one knows my feminine weakness save for me and my husband.

And well, now you. 🙂

Perhaps this Amazon woman is not quite so Amazon-ish after all.


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