Hotness. 08/26/04
I am becoming aware of this eternal struggle within my own identity. About half of me is a fun-loving sexy young hottie. The other half is a dumpy middle-aged librarian type.
I am always trying to fight back the seemingly inevitable slide towards becoming the unattractive frumpy boring conservatively dressed older woman. I have this need to remain, as long as possible, the sort of person I would not be ashamed of being, the sort of girl that my man would be proud to call HIS.
So I buy miniskirts and trendy fashions, I work out at the gym and do ridiculous-looking exercises in hopes of reshaping my body closer to the sort of female form that is meant to wear miniskirts and tight jeans and sleeveless tops. I scrub determinedly at my skin to fight the wrinkles and spots and hopefully achieve a youthful glow. I keep my hair and fingernails long and wear makeup to enhance my features and conceal the flaws.
I’m also attempting to be entertaining, in touch with the outside world, graceful and energetic, and willing to do things considered daring. I study other females who are considered attractive or cool and I take mental notes.
I do it for myself, and for him. Not for the general public, or even my friends. I need to be the sort of woman I dreamed of turning into when I was younger, and I hope so desperately never to resemble my mother any more than I already do.
Today perhaps I am 30% hottie and 70% librarian. I want to put on my little red skirt and my Hello Kitty t-shirt and listen to Type O Negative before I slide further towards frumpy.
