It’s a weird thing to know that you can arouse someone, but you don’t actually feel “pretty”. I know I can turn my husband on, I get proof of that all the time. I know I can turn others on with my voice, and my words. I’ve been told that I’m attractive, but I don’t feel that way. I feel like everything about me is short and stubby.
David and I crawled under the covers this afternoon to take a nap. I accidentally kicked him. That got me thinking about feet. I don’t have pretty feet, I have Flintstone feet. That actually made me sad, and I cried. What a stupid thing to cry about.
I was told by one person, that I was the only person other than their spouse, who captured their eye and their mind. I loved hearing that. That compliment impressed me.
I’ve been told that I’m beautiful, and sexy. And I don’t believe it. I’m not ugly by any means. But I see the freckles, the wrinkles, and the grey hair. On the flip side of things, I don’t care how people see me. I dress for comfort, not to impress (good thing too on my budget).
Once again, I start writing because something triggers a thought, but I have no idea where I’m going with it. I know that appearance ultimately means nothing. I like to think that I have a beautiful heart, and that’s what does count.