Tonight, a man re-posted a pic of me on his FB. The caption was “Hot girl.” I was in a collection of photos of many women, all scantily clad. Also, a piece of my tooth had just randomly fallen out.
Tonguing a new empty space, I thought about the day of this “hot girl.”
My osteopath tried for the fourth time, to pull my coccyx into position. He was as uncomfortable sticking his finger up my butt, as I was letting him. So, to thank him, I gave him a children’s book in English, named “I want a new butt.” The pictures were very creative, and it neutralized me having sobbed in the fetal position, while he groped for my tail.
Later in the day, I complained to my business coach, that I was detached from my sex and creativity, because all I had experienced in my pelvic region for 6 months was pain.
And at night I marched for Women’s Day in the biggest turn out for a protest I’ve ever seen.
I like being thought of as a “hot girl.” It has power. And in general, it’s nice to be enjoyed.
However, when I’m feeling very human, I like it less. And I wonder, if the fantasies of this stranger, included me in my pajamas, contemplating if a piece of my tooth was artisanal salt.
I’ve been thinking lately, what it means to embrace a person and not an idea. I celebrate desire. And it’s important to me. But as I open to having a partner, I realize I also celebrate learning to grow old together. Making meals, and laughing about indigestion. Life stuff.
It’s never occurred to me to post a picture of a man I haven’t met, with the caption “hot man.” I get that it’s a form of appreciation. But it also seems one dimensional. As if it would strip a man of his 360 degree beauty. His muscles and his snoring. His confidence and his little boy moments.
And in my longing for him… I want it all.