Subourbon Mom


Hit On By A Woman

I’d rather be hit on by a woman than by a man.

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Let’s face it – a lot of women, when it comes to the fashion choices of their peers, are judgy sometimes downright bitchy.

Yep, I went there.

Maybe men are too – I just don’t know enough about that species, even after living with one for decades, to make that call. (I have my suspicions, but I figure this post will irritate enough people in one go.)

You can go ahead and get uncomfortable and deny that you and your friends are like that, and that it’s a sexist thing to say.  But I’ll bet you’re denying it while wearing some kind of socially acceptable clothing that isn’t made strictly for comfort. If you’re naked or wearing a onsie, I apologize for lumping you into this ridiculous generalization and salute you.

Now, if you’re out hunting in your local bar and your Cha Cha is hanging out there for all to see, then by all means, get those kudos from the guys – you probably don’t give a crap what other women are thinking anyway. Fist bump for setting a goal and going after it.

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But let’s be honest – most of you have been out with your friends at one time or another and some girl walked by looking slutty, overdressed, underdressed, dressed too young/too old or just too different.  Take your pick. And, someone in your group shook her head, pursed her lips, and said something mean about that girl behind her hand. If you’re in the South, she might even say something backhanded, like, “It must be nice to have enough confidence to go without a bra after nursing four kids.” So yeah, mean and bitchy. (I have no doubt there are men who do this too, and women who don’t – but if I talked about them, this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.)

Don’t get me wrong, I like having men hit on me, too. It’s good to know that if all the rules in the world, my ethics and my love for Hubby were different, I could get a piece of that – it’s a powerful feeling. And having Hubby hit on me after 25 years of marriage is super-gratifying – I mean the man has seen me throwing up and giving birth to two kids.  There’s not a lot of glamour left.  Having a woman hit on me simply carries a different kind of weight – the same way someone telling you your dog is cute at the dog park might not be as satisfying as having an American Kennel Club judge tell you your dog could win the next championship. There’s a level of knowledge that makes the compliment mean more.

Sooo… another woman is going to get what went in to making all this awesomeness happen:

  • the hair products to make your locks smooth/curly/shiny/smelling good and every color of the hair rainbow
  • the blow-drying/straightening/curling so it looks like you didn’t blow dry/straighten/curl it
  • the makeup that’s just the right amount so it hides your flaws but doesn’t make you look like a ’ho
  • the clothes that say you’re not on the pole, but that still show off all the good parts (which by the way, aren’t necessarily the same for men and women)
  • the lengths you go through to not show panty lines – which leads to:
    • no underwear at all, a la Britney Spears back in the day (Millennials, think Kim Kardashian);
    • an uncomfortable thong that shows off all the cellulite; or
    • Spanx, which pushes all the fat into one place and looks like your grandma’s undies

images-3My guess is most men don’t really want to know how we Goddesses of Love and Lycra got this way. I love bologna, but I don’t want to know what it’s made of or how it got into those perfect, round slices of deliciousness. That’s what dating is for – to get beyond the packaging and, if you’re in your 40’s and lucky, the ingredients will be better than what’s in bologna.

Sadly, women don’t often openly and positively comment on other women, especially ones they don’t know.  Shame on us.  And, more often than not, it seems to me that women dress for other women, not for men – and it’s because we’re scared.

So the next time you’re out, no matter who you’re with or whether you know the person or not, send a genuine compliment out there – we are most critical of ourselves, and you never know what kind of day or week someone has had. Putting on a clean shirt or a bra may have been the best they could do that day.  Saying “Hey, I like your shirt” or “Your hair looks good today,” or even better, “I think you’re funny/kind/smart,” may make someone’s day in a way you never expected.

 

 

 

 



Drive-Thru Mammograms: Moo-Thrus

I was reminded the other day that I am way late on getting my mammogram done—y’all, getting older sucks.  Seriously, there’s got to be a more comfortable way to look at our mammory masterpieces.  Thanks to Obamacare (which I think has done great things for people with pre-existing illness, by the way), I’ve been counting my pennies and choosing carefully which medical events are most important. In my field research, I’ve found more inexpensive ways to get a mammogram done.

The best way is to drive to your local library and use the mechanized drop box that looks like an ATM. Our county’s libraries recently got new ones—here’s how they work. When you drive up, the shelf is exactly at the wrong height, no matter what kind of car you’re in.

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If you’re in an SUV, you have to hang your body half way out the window because you have to be so far away to accommodate the return book conveyor belt. Then you smush your chest on your window as you reach for the buttons to operate the damned thing. If you’re in a sedan or God forbid, a hybrid, you have to climb like a monkey up to the right height, squishing your chest on the drop box ledge to get your books up there.

Side note: Someone please tell me—why is it an option to get a receipt at the library? Are there people who don’t want a receipt in case there is secret information that someone might use against them to rack up a bunch of late charges?  Just print the thing off without making me hang my torso out of the car like a crash-test dummy to press another button.


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Another good place to do this is at your local ATM.  Same principal applies, but the reverse is true for cars—ATMs seem to be made for SUVs.  I was driving Hubby’s sedan (excuse me, he would emphasize it’s a SPORT sedan, even though it has 4 doors), and realized the car mirrors are at exactly the wrong height–they would smack into the front edge of the ATM if I got any closer. I had to back up and pull in again (much to my mortification) so I wouldn’t hit the machine. Then, I had to stretch up to reach the buttons and grab my stuff, once again smushing my chest exactly like they do in a mammogram.

If mammogram folks were smart, they would partner with library drop offs and ATMs to do a combo-service, taking a picture as you went about your business.  A week after you visited the ATM or library drop-off, you would get a notice in the mail informing you if your mammogram was normal or not–receipt optional.

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