It was as if I fell asleep for the last fifteen years and just woke up in mid-town yesterday.
For no particular reason, while coming home from work, I suddenly noticed that women were no longer sexy; it was just as shocking to me too. And wanting to be sure of my finding, I decided to do a scoring survey, in my mind, with hopes that by the time I walked to the train station, maybe I could find an average score of five-out-of-ten.
There was no such luck.
Still refusing to accept that as the reality, I deliberately missed my train to try out another scoring tactic.
And even though I am heterosexual, I decided to check out some men, but not being gay made it a little difficult for me; I was not sure of what to look for, “Do I look at the way they were dressed or do I look at their faces and physiques?”
I know what a decent looking man should look like, but I was lost in knowing whether he’d appear appealing or desirable to a woman or not.
Having to struggle with that, I decided to switch my views back to women, but this time, the younger ones. And it was there the answer awaited.
In less than 15 minutes of my screening, females whom I guessed were between ages of, say, twenty and thirty-five hit my ratio of sexiness with an impressive eight-out-of-ten. Hairs, faces and make-up were all impeccable, followed up by fashionable attires and accessories, and for the few that passed me nearby, the pleasant odor of their perfumes had to be noted.
It was at that moment when I felt woken up to realize that I was fifty years old, married with children and that the last time I saw sexy was about fifteen years earlier.
After giving it even deeper thoughts, I realized that no one I knew were sexy, not even me. I, too, had fallen into the un-sexy category.
I began wondering, “When did that happened, when did the transition of U and N attached themselves to my SEXY? “
“Yes” I thought “over the last fifteen years I got married, took out a mortgage, three car payments and had two children” “But does this justifies un-sexy?” “No, not at all!”
Seemed like everyone hung it up after age thirty-five. And even though I didn’t get the memo, I was sure acting as if I did.
I immediately began reminiscing on my sexy years, when girls my age made the efforts and greeted sexy back with energy and glee, and I did too. Yes, I remembered when girls were sexy all the way down to their underwear; a matching G-string and bra were my favourite to see.
Sexy dresses, fitted or gown-styled, short or long and stilettos; it was usually stilettos most of the time if not all the time, because no other shoes boast the curves of a woman’s sole like a pair of stilettos, while showing off the indisputable sex appealing assets of a woman’s legs.
Yeah those were the days.
But yesterday, all I saw were flats. Aged women, who most likely complain about muscle aches and have no time for stilettos, poor hair grooming, wore little or no make-up and attired in a way which boldly spelled out ‘CAN’T BE BOTHERED’. And for that reason I did not even allow my mind to wonder if SEXY applied to their underwear, the outer layer said it all.
I turned to me and realized that I had to revamp my attitude, awake my energy or what’s left of it and apply a makeover because I want my sexy back.
Bleeding Pen 