Last night, my husband and I watched an episode of NY Ink where a woman who had recently had surgery to restore her hearing, got a tattoo of a pin-up girl on her ribcage. She chose the pin-up girl because she felt that it represented her newfound confidence.
She could finally hear after 29 years of not.
And confidence, of course, equals sexuality.
“Why!?” I whined at the television. “Why, as women, is our self-worth and confidence always directly tied to our sexuality? WHY!?”
I already know the answer.
Because just last week, I used a gift card and bought myself a twelve dollar tube of red lipstick.
Desperately reaching for just a shred of that same confidence and femininity and sexuality, knowing that it’s really pretty fleeting and certainly not found in a shade, but wanting it anyway.
And so today, while I’m crying about this, that and the other and feeling totally overwhelmed with motherhood and frustrated with marriage and scrubbing the bathroom floor for the third time, my lips are fire engine red.
But I sorta just feel like a clown.
Moral of the story: attitudes aren’t quite as easy to smear.