Jeepers! Creepers

As a woman with awesome legs, I enjoy wearing dresses. They (the legs) are about the only thing on my body I don’t have to encase in Spanx like sausage. So when the weather is warm, or when I am just in the mood, I will slip into a dress and heels. I am a woman. It is my right.

One day last week I was feeling especially sassy and threw on a short, black sheath dress. Not short enough for people to mistake me for a prostitute but short enough for someone to admire the scenery….at a distance. Upon standing in the bread isle waiting for The Girl to come back with a carriage, Mr. Creepy Peeper proceeded to look up my dress. I know this because I caught him out of the corner of my eye and met his gaze when I turned around. Clearly taken aback, I moved to the opposite end of the isle where a small crowd of people where standing. All finished, and safely sitting in the car, I turned to say something to The Girl and low and behold Mr. Creepy Peeper was walking by. *shock and awe*

Not assuming he was following me, but let us assume he was following me–what gives a person the right to make another severely uncomfortable? And I suppose I should follow that question up with, do you just carry a baseball bat around with you and beat up Creepers when you feel like it?

As women, we have the right to walk around practically naked if we want. And…as men, they have the right to look, stare, drool, eat their hearts out…you get the picture. But at what point does the looking/staring/drooling become not enough? Why must we be touched or cornered or called like an animal or visually assaulted with Creeper eyes? Show a little respect will ya….Creepers.

~SM

Queen To Be

Confidence has never really been my strong suit. At one point, I think I had some but it was fleeting. I never think I am pretty enough, I  never thought I was skinny enough, and I never really believed I was smart enough. I suppose it could be said I just never really felt like I was enough….of anything. This morning, with the help of a big booty and a tribal print dress, all of that changed.

This morning driving to work, I noticed a woman–healthy in size–walking down the street. Her purse on her shoulder, her over-sized butt bouncing beneath her brown/orange/white tribal print dress…she reminded me of a woman. A real woman. The kind of woman those old statues encased in glass under museum lights resemble. She reminded me of birth. She reminded me of work. She reminded me of strength and hope and love and fire and power. She was a woman…just like me.

I drove past wondering if she knew what I knew. With every step she held power. She was born powerful. It dawned on me that I was her, too. I hold (and have held) life within my body. Life. I hold warmth and love and strength and hope and fire and power within every fiber of my being.

I can’t say today I am brimming with confidence, but I am walking a little straighter. I am walking with recognition of the place I hold upon the Earth. Perhaps the knowing of power is just the catalyst needed to believe in it and exude it daily. I am a queen. I have always been. I was born royal.

~SM