I don't fart, I whisper in my panties

Being older and wiser has become two totally separate issues for me. I heard many wise woman quote they wish they had known back then what they know now while still looking as good as they did back then, of course. Well my skinny and my fat comes with the same insecurities. “Oh my God!! Look how I look. Please don’t let him expect to see me completely naked”. This was when I was hot hot hot and super skinny. Now I’m like “Oh my God!! Look how I look. Please don’t let him expect to see me completely naked”.

I cannot speak for most women, but my understanding of getting older meant that I would become more confident and really, I did not. I think now I have learnt to say “I don’t give a fuck what people think” when actually I do. I’m 33 what the hell do I really know. Perhaps just a tad more than I did at 23, and just a little bit more than I knew at 13 and slightly more than I knew at 3. What I do know is that I should perhaps have less of a memory than I do have.

I think this is where I want to go with this piece.

Knowing what men like and seeing their reactions to these beautifully crafted woman makes me wonder, since I don’t like to settle for less, why should they settle for something less than they really want. Yip, thinking this way act as no assistance to my current state of mind, which is screaming “you going to be alone FOREVER!!”

I know that I want to be loved unconditionally. I don’t want to have to not fart or burp. Ok I don’t drink beer anymore, but I want him to be cool with the beer drinking me. I am rough around the edges. For goodness sake I bite off my nail polish use cotton to floss my teeth and pick at my in grown hairs with my eyebrow tweezers. I want to be loved and respected even when my ass blows a gasket from eating too much Indian food. I don’t want to have to run the basin tap on super hydro, dispense too much soap while squirting fireworks from my ass. 
I want something real and I want to be able to be real. I don’t know how to be this superficial well to do person. And just because own and love girly bags does not mean I have my shit together. I want to be ok with being wrong. It’s rare, but it has been known to happen every decade or so. I’m not saying that I want a totally gross relationship where we greet each other with farts, but I just want something real, while still wholesome and sexy. Am I asking too much?

I just know that I cannot be this Hollywood representation of a woman. I am a real woman, with real fears and insecurities who sometimes pee’s a little when she sneezes and swears like a sailor and cries for cute TV ads with little kids in them. I am a real woman with daddy issues and a very tricky mommy relationship. I am a real woman who goes to the toilet to adjust the boob bag and pull the panty out of her ass. I am a real woman who walks really badly because her tights is torn between her thighs. I am a real woman who loves passionately, protects fiercely and reacts irrationally.

I am a real woman God damn it!