Ever wonder what $30 cat treats look like?

A couple weeks ago Murry staged yet another Great Esk-ah-PAY!

Around three in the morning after the Great Financial Aid Meltdown,  I woke up to the distinct: ka-thump, ka-thunk, MEROOWWW of a liberated cat.  Stumbling out of bed, I was fairly certain of what had gone done and when I turned on the kitchen life my suspicions were confirmed: while participating in overly-exuberant communications with a local ruffian (I'm pretty sure Mom jokes were slung and my honor was impinged) Murry knocked out a window screen and cavorted off into the cold, dark morning to defend my reputation. 

What. A. Dick.

What?  Did you want to read your homework?

 

I went outside to knock the screen back in (we can't bet letting Joe Lewis out or nocturnal Florida wanderers in) and after doing so,  stood around calling his name and shaking a bag of treats in the hopes that I could bribe him home from his adventures.  Then I realized that I was standing in my backyard at three in the morning in my underpants calling my cat to come home.  This may in fact be an all-time low for me, which if you’ve been around the last few months you’ll know, that’s saying something.  However in my experience, early morning all-time lows are just the universe’s way of saying: GO BACK TO BED. 

So back to bed I went and not surprisingly, Murry made his way home all by his onesies about three hours later.  Tuckered out and inordinately sleepy and lazy:  

so very sleepy at 8 am

still...can't...get...up...at 5 pm

Yet he seemed no worse for the wear. 

Ha. 

True to form, that pansy-ass stinker is just not tough enough to be an outdoor adventurer.  I thought that maybe we’d manage to skip making traumatic trip to the vet, but three days  later and a mere four hours before I was supposed to leave for a conference in Orlando, I walked into the my closet and was greeted by a very squinty and (I assume) rather uncomfortable kitty.

what?  this is how my face usually looks

One Friday afternoon emergency trip to the vet later yielded a diagnosis: an upper respiratory infection requiring antibiotic eye ointment and fancy-schmancy, immune-system boosting kitty treats.  I blame the esk-AH-pay.

Ever wondered what thirty dollar cat treats look like?

 

Voila! They have an appetizing chicken-liver flavor and appealing fish-like appearance.  I'm sure that it must be the fish-like appearance that makes them so schmancy. That and the sprinkling of essential amino acids to encourage cellular repair and health and well-being! 

So, two weeks and yet another show of amazing friendship from the amazing people in my life later(three of whom rallied like champs to get us to the vet and to give Mur his twice-daily eye ointment I was in Orlando,) we pulled through. 

At first I was tempted to say that my plea to the universe for life to get just “a little bit easier” had gone unanswered.  Then I thought about how generous people were YET AGAIN with their time and support and I remembered that good friendships trump circumstantial challenges every day of the week.   

Meredith, Andrea, Kristin and Erica…I am SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU! 

Let's Talk Ground Rules

Confession: I joined Match.com.  Okay fine, I tried to join Match.com once and it didn’t go well so I took a break and then nine months later I joined it for real. True story.

The first time that I tried to join Match was after maybe three months of singledome when I was in the “my life is over and I’m never going to meet an interesting guy ever again” place.  It was an odd place, one with lots of Popsicle’s, Netflix and no small amount of emotional cutting. Surrounded by popsicle sticks and fearing permanently cherry stained lips, I turned to my friends for support and advice.  This, was  a terrible idea.  I don't know about your friends but sometimes my friends give me great advice, other times they tell me to join Match.com.  

Thankfully, dating websites seem prepared for this exact situation and in order to weed out emotional train wrecks (ahem) they require prospective members fill out a very snazzy questionnaire intended to assess emotional stability.  Tricksy questions such as, “what do you like to do in your spare time?” (Sit on the couch, watch Gossip Girl on Netflix and drink red wine?) and “How important to you is it that your potential match wear deodorant/ have basic social skills/ not be married/ have a job?” (Hint: when your answer is one big…meh…that’s a bad sign.)  Thank GOD this super dog sniffer of a survey was filled out before actually signing up for or paying for anything.  And so, abundantly aware of my overwhelming apathy towards members of the opposite sex, I closed my laptop, grabbed another fudgsicle and went back to my solo couch party.  I wasn’t there yet.

Four seasons of Grey's Anatomy, two semesters of nursing school pre-reqs and one MAJOR crush on a certain A&P teacher later – my super friends struck again.  This time I found the wherewithal somewhere within myself to care a little bit more about the bar against which I measured my potential suitors and embraced the idea of trying something new.  This brings me to my first line of defense.

Criteria for which you get ex-nayed / considered on first look:

1.       Gratuitous shirtless selfies.

I don’t think that this one needs an explanation.

2.       Any reference to wanting “like, not a supermodel or anything, but you know, someone who respects their body.”

The want to be attracted to one’s partner is implied in the whole “more than friends” situation and a need to turn the implied into the overt is distressing in and of itself.  Add in the idea that anyone not meeting a certain physical standard (one that I assume is most likely stereotypical and unrealistic for the likes of me) is lacking in respect for their body?  No thank you.

3.       Any reference to needing an “active sexual relationship.”

Vomit. 

 

4.       Current relationship status of anything other than single, divorced or widowed.

What else is there you ask?  What other status could one reasonably put on a dating website profile? It’s not normal, it’s not reasonable and it’s certainly not very smart but you could also choose: separated.  I can hear your collective gasp and please rest assured that I share your horror.  Take a breather dude, it’s okay to be alone for more than a week.

5.       Substitution of single letters and numbers for full words and/or refusal to abide by basic mechanical writing principles.

U for you.  4 for four.  B4 for before.  All caps, no periods, no commas?  You don’t have to have a Pulitzer Prize but Microsoft Word has an outstanding spelling and grammar check system.  Use it.  Please.

Add in the basic safety rules (no identifying information, no at home pickups and providing a friend with my password to the oh so handy Find My IPhone app) and you’ve got yourself a blind dating ball game. 

You might be wondering why I’m telling you these things.  Perhaps if you are in an established, loving relationship you might be thinking, "that sounds fun!"  Trust me, this ain't Sex in the City and in the coming posts there will be moments (trust me) where you ask yourself: “what the hell kind of criteria is she picking these guys with?”  In retrospect, perhaps I ought to have made more rules, but then again, what's the point of stepping out of your box if you're just going to box yourself back in with rules? 

So now you know that a.) I'm super lame and b.)  that it is with these rules in hand that I embarked upon an entirely hilarious, occasionally humiliating and entirely surreal six months of online dating. 

These are the times

These are the times that try men's souls...what we obtain too cheap, we esteem to lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything it's value

                                                                                             - Thomas Pain

I find it comforting to see that someone, specifically Thomas Paine, has felt the way that I do now.  Granted, he was looking across bloodied fields, actual tyranny and carnage while I'm simply looking across what seems to me to be a depressingly base political scene where women's health, health care and sexuality are political fodder. Tomato, tom-ah-to; potato, pot-ah-to.  My soul feels tried and at times I'm tempted to give up and move to France.

"It's about the whores who use contraceptiion"

"[It's not about contraception,] It is about the whores who use contraceptives!  And dancing. Its about dancing!  It ALWAYS begins with the dancing.  And the face paint. And culottes! Oh those culottes.  Oh garment of temptation, you are the devils pantaloon!" 

- Jon Stewart

I don't often re-post from other blogs, even when credit is given it seems a little bit like thievery.  However, with the misogynistic tactics (my words) that lawmakers across the country seem to be taking in the "debate" on birth control coverage and mandating additional medically unnecessary procedures before having a 100% legal abortion, I feel like it's important that other  voices be heard, even if it's just here on my little corner of the inter-web. 

Clearly, if you've been paying attention at all, and even if you just tuned in, you can probably guess where I stand on this.  Unfortunately, nobody is required to agree with me (as is evidenced by the fact that Rush Limbaugh is still on the air spewing hatred) so I'll just stick to the facts. 

According to a recent study funded and supported by the CDC 98% of women in this country who have ever had intercourse have used contraceptives at some point in their lives. 82% of these women have used oral contraceptives.  Before 1980, only 43 percent of women (or their partner) used a method of birth control at their first premarital intercourse. By 1999–2002, the proportion using a method at first premarital intercourse had risen to 79 percent.  Do you suppose there's any coincidence that during this time the teen pregnancy rate also fell? 

I thought I could limit myself to facts but I can't. When politics and religion begin to intervene between a woman and her doctor, women will get hurt.  Whether it is physical injury, emotional injury or "just" the violation of their civil rights, it is injury all the same. To continue this discussion in support of these laws, knowing full well that women will be marginalized, degraded and injured, is misogyny.  Plain and simple.  


My favorite entries from Men Who Trust Women tumbler:


 "The idea that a pregnant woman choosing to terminate the pregnancy doesn’t know she’s got a fetus in her womb is just so infuriatingly insulting. And as a father of two girls, I feel invested in this issue in an extra-strong way, too. The idea that one of my girls could be forced into unnecessary medical procedures by the state government, because she’s a girl, is just so angering to me. My girls deserve better."


"In fact, the hard thing for me is to conceive of how anyone, male or female, can believe that they are in a better position to decide about any health care decisions than the patient in consultation with her doctor and friends/family.
So yes, I trust women to make their own decisions on health care, and anything else!"

"Trusting women is the bare minimum. Believing that women are human beings capable of making decisions about their own bodies makes you a decent human being. And being a decent human being is the bare goddamn minimum. You don’t get a cookie for being a decent human being...[but] this is not about cookies. This is about changing the conversation."

Do Your Best

"Do your best and your best will get better."

                                                - Emma Hart Willard

oh the things that you will learn

Karen: God. My hips are huge!

Gretchen: Oh please. I hate my calves.

Regina: At least you guys can wear halters. I've got man shoulders.

Gretchen: My hairline is so weird.

Regina: My pores are huge.

Karen: My nail beds suck.

"I used to think there was just fat and skinny. But apparently there's lots of things that can be wrong on your body."

- Mean Girls

 
Like most women in their twenties, I'm pretty good at cataloguing my physical flaws. Actually, if psychological self abuse was an olympic sport, I'd probably have a decent shot at a gold medal.  After four years of college prep school and another solid decade living in a climate where minimal clothing is not only acceptable but at times, essential, I'm extremely proficient at identifying my own physical flaws. 
 
So imagine my shock, imagine my amazement when in the course of conversation I discovered something that had never even crossed my mind to be insecure about: nipple placement.
 
A friend of mine recently saw a plastic surgeon in consult (ludacris in and of its self) and was told that she had good nipple placement.  Correct me if I'm wrong but good nipple placement in turn implies that there is such a thing a bad nipple placement. 
 
Seriously? SERIOUSLY!?  The mind literally whirls with dismay.
 
Do we really need to add nipple placement to the list of things to worry about when / if someone sees you naked?
 
Sometimes I'm just not sure that this is a world that I am okay with living in.

Quote of the Day: Friends are warm fuzzies edition

"Friendship is like peeing on yourself. Everyone can see it, but only you get the warm feeling that it brings." 

Bahamian Friends :)

Super Fancy Friends

Friends who dress up

 "I no doubt deserved my enemies, but I don't believe I deserved my friends."

- Walt Whitman 

Friends who form Fun Clubs

Friends who won't ever be forgotten

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival."
- C. S. Lewis

 

Political Friends

Drinking friends!

  "Friends: people who borrow my books and set wet glasses on them." 

- Edwin Arlington Robinson

Sister Friend

Boy-Friend

Fabulous Friend

"I get by with a little help from my friends."
- John Lennon

Quote of the Day: God-I-wish-I were-that-balanced edition

"In all the years that you've ever undressed in front of a gentleman, has he ever asked you to leave?  Has he ever walked out?  No. That's because he doesn't care, he's in a room with a naked girl, he's won the lottery.  I'm so tired of saying no and then waking up in the morning and recalling every single thing I ate the day before.  Recalling every calorie that I consumed so that I know exactly how much self loathing to take into the shower with me.  I'm going for it, I've no interest in being obese, I'm just through with the guilt."

--Eat, Pray, Love

Thinking that Kelly Osborne might be a good candidate for my posse...

In the most shameful act since forming a staunch opinion on whose better for Bella, Edward or Jacob, I started watching Joan Rivers’ Fashion Police on E.  I caught it on TV one night when I was waiting for Chelsea Lately to come on and I’ve developed a love-hate fascination with it. 

I know that this may come as a shock but Joan Rivers is bat ass crazy.  Generally crazy with a battleship sized mouth wouldn't endear a person to me but I’ve discovered I am kinda a fan.  I won’t go so far as to include her in my posse because I’m not sure that I have the armadillo-like armour that would be necessary to have her in my imaginary crew, but so long as I remain nondescript and relatively unknown, I think we’ll be good.  


Guiliana Rancic now, needs to eat a stinkin’ cracker already because she’s starting to look like skeletor.  I know that it is unkind to judge a person based on weight but her skinniness has become plank-like and while pre-famous photographs indicate that she has fantastic genetics to start with, she’s also clearly exercising some seriously insane self-restraint at meal times, and I can’t help but drink the hater-ade a little.  Rachel Zoe always talked about how Guiliana’s body is like a clothes hanger” and how fabulous fashion looks on her.  Call me nuts but I just don’t think that we should aim to have our bodies look like wire hangers.  Needless to say Guilian will not be in my posse either because those who can’t appreciate a cupcake now and again need not apply. 


Then there’s Kelly Osborne who despite thinking that this fashion stuff is very very serious business and that celebrity stylists have “one of the toughest jobs out there” comes off as a genuinely kind person with a penchant for talking about “knickers” all the time.  She avoids the low blows and manages to be pretty darn funny all the same.  Oh what a sad, sad state of affairs we’ve fallen to when Kelly Osborne is the voice of reason and sanity.

Operation Peirogi

To complete the weekend of ill advised cooking adventures, yesterday I attacked pirogi. This is a first for me in that while I'm an expert pirogi eater,  I've never made them myself and haven't seen them made since I was in elementary school.  So despite a distinct lack of hands on experience I ventured forth armed with my Grandma's recipe, a gray, cold Sunday and cleaning the house to procrastinate.

Mary Kukulka's Pierogi Recipe

The Recipe (yes this is a proper noun) was supplemented with some scattered verbal instructions (when in doubt double, better yet triple the butter) but also did a little Googling to fill in the gaps in the hopes of missing a few common pitfalls.  This guy is way ramped up over his pirogi making as it is apparently very, very serious business.  While he should probably cut back on his caffeine intake, there was helpful information buried amongst the passion.

There's all sorts of stuffing for these tasty little suckers and while I'm sure I will attempt the others at a later date, potato and cheese are favored by my fam so I went with those.  The potato pirogi stuffing was made the night before per the practice of Grandma.

She always said that it was best to get it out of the way and after all the rolling, stuffing and boiling that was about to commence, she was right. 

Thankfully I had become quite well acquainted with my mixer the day before because I ended up making three batches of pirogi dough.

Apparently one batch of potatoes requires a triple batch of dough - duly noted. And can I just say that there was nothing more I wanted this weekend than a KitchenAid mixer?  I spent a decent amount of both Saturday and Sunday cursing my sister for not registering for one when she got married so that I could have borrowed it this weekend.  Sigh...the girl just doesn't think ahead!

According to my Mom (hi Mama!) I showed a penchant for rolling out this dough as a 12 year old, so 25 years later I attacked it again.  I mean, it can't possibly be as hard as making Grandmother's pie crust right?  right?!?  Right:

It isn't nearly so difficult as that stinkin' pie crust, maybe I'll try that one when Mama's here next week.  Stay on the edges of your seats and keep a tight hold on those nipples, this is thrilling stuff. 

Stuffing placed:

Sealed with water, finger pinchin' and then finished off for good measure with a fork:

Boiled: 

and laid to rest:

Four and a half hours and four explosion casualties later I had 83 hand-made pirogi to gaze up on with glee.  It sure looks pathetic for 4 1/2 hours worth or work.  Then we ate them:

Not quite as good as Grandma's (as was expected) but a sight better than Mrs. T's if I do say so myself.   Plus a whole load frozen for later consumption once the fam arrives.  

This Christmas will be a lot of firsts for me  It will be my first with Wes- yay!  It will be the first one where I do not wake up with my parents in the same house - boo.  It will also be the first one in over a decade that I won't be at my Grandma's house. My Grandma passed away this past summer, peacefully and without pain which is exactly what she deserved.  I haven't found a way to write about her, it's hard to know what to say about a woman who I knew for my entire life but only a tiny portion of hers.  I'm still working on that but what I do know is that of the things that are quintessentially Christmas to me, my Grandma's pirogi is a big one.   My Grandma is not here this year and I think that I can speak for my whole family when I say that we miss her terribly.  My Grandma is not here this year but the tradition of her pirogi 's (imperfect as they are) will be.

Grandma, Christmas 2009

This post brought to you under the supervision of Kitchen Cat. 


He iz slepin' in ur kitchen



Wotchin' u kook and tipe



lift your own suitcase dammit!

It seriously bothers me when women bring carry-on luggage onto planes that they can't lift into the overhead bins.  It's ridiculous that the airlines are charging for bags and I understand that in the current economy, spending an additional $25 or $35 for your luggage just isn't necessarily within reach but seriously...lift some weights or pack less. 

This isn't to say that there's anything wrong when men are being polite or gentlemanly and they offer to help, it's when that help is expected or solicited.  Your vagina is not a disability, if you can't lift the bag above your head, take out the stuff you don't need or shell out the extra bucks.

Oh no they didn't

Sometimes, I like bad TV.  Yes, yes, I said it.  I like bad TV, the crap kind that rots my brain, whittles away at my self respect and encourages a life of depravity and sin. There's several levels of crappiness and for those days when Jersey Shore is a little too much, but Gilmore Girls isn't?  I turn to Say Yes to the Dress.  Just in case you have been living under a rock, Say Yes to the Dress capitalizes on the wedding mania that has seemingly gripped the under-40, female portion of the nation.  A 'reality' show based in Kleinfelds in NYC, each episode follows several brides while they try to find the wedding dress of their dreams.  If there is any show that elevates the Wedding over the Marriage, it is this one. 
The triumph of The Wedding over Marriage is nothing new but the glorification of it seems to be reaching a fever pitch.   There is a rhetoric that seems to surround weddings lately ( i.e. "MY special day" or the day that "I am a princess") that is lacking in the concept of 'we' that I thought was inherent in matrimony.  Please don't get me wrong - I've been to many heartfelt, sincere and beautiful weddings the past few years and I know that the concept of marriage is alive and well.  It's just this idea perpetuated by shows such as Say Yes to the Dress in which women, who identify having a more than ample budget of 3 thousand dollars with which to purchase a dress, throw all caution to the wind and spend the equivalent of the down payment for a house instead.  All because it is what they want.

My disdain for the ideals being portrayed in this show is hypocritical because it in no way, shape or form dissuades me from watching it.  The dresses are beautiful, there's just no way around that.  The people range from from blase to dramatic, completely normal to flaming insane.  They yell, they cry and then they just start making shit up.  It's always a good time, mostly because I can almost always find the entertainment value in the unwarranted tears of the self-absorbed and insane. 


While watching Say Yes today I saw an add for a special episode called "Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss."  A special show that showcases plus sized brides searching for their dream wedding dresses.

Excuse me?

I have to admit, my first reaction was positive.  The average size of a bride-to-be on this show is a size 4, four full sizes below the national average.  A more realistic pool of women searching for dresses would be welcome indeed, thank God for it!   Then it hit me.  Our own show?  Really?  My ass actually needs to be separated from smaller asses in IT'S OWN SHOW?

Oh. No. They. Didn't.

This attempt to be culturally relevant, to not perpetuate the image of starving, bony women as the ideal of beauty does the exact opposite.  It says that maybe it's okay to be larger than a size four, but while you are not exactly inferior, you are most certainly not equal.  In fact, you need your own show, because if we put you in the regular show then people wouldn't watch.  Yes, obesity is an issue in this country and yes it should be addressed, but it should not be divisive.  Fat is not a whole different demographic. If you want to support women of all different sizes then do it, but don't separate them into categories. 

 There has been a lot of press lately regarding a comment made by an actress from the HBO series, True Blood.  When asked about her diet and exercises regimen, Kristin Bauer admitted that she is, and for as long as she continues to be in show business will continue to be, hungry.  This is the price she willingly pays for being an actress.

I am glad that Kristin Bauer was honest.  I am glad that she did not toe the line of every size two actress out there who insists they eat cake and carbs and everything delicious, just "in moderation." I am glad in the way I was when Gwen Stephani told reporters that her body was not accidental, rather it was the result of hard work and never taking a day off from her diet.  Women are telling the truth about what they pay and sacrifice to be "beautiful" even when its insane, yet they continue to do it.  Somewhere along the way we decided that not eating was an okay sacrifice, that thin tastes better than cheesecake.

There is something that tastes better than being thin.  It's called self-respect.

Wondering...

Why do people insist on using the terms 'virtue' and 'virginity' interchangeably. 

Just in case you were wondering:

Virgin (n.) - a person who has never had sex
Virtue (n.) - the quality of doing what is right and avoiding what is wrong

I am not okay with people trying to legislate and legalize morals but I am really not okay with people inflicting their morals on the English language. 

They are NOT synonyms!!

Quote of the Day: Elizabeth Gilbert

 Every time I go downtown in Gainesville, I find myself being a little (or more than a little) judgmental about a lot of the girls / women I see down there.  Then I read this quote and I remember... life is a learning curve.  Some people learn faster than others.  Some people had better role models than others.  I was blessed with amazing, strong, intelligent role models and I'm still figuring it all out.

"What you have to understand is that we live in this time of this radical new social experiment and I think that sometimes we forget how new it is.  And that radical, unprecedented new social experiment is what happens if we give women autonomy , education, finances and control over their sexual biology.  What happens if we give you all this freedom?  What are you going to do with it?  We only have like two decades of role models on how to do that."

- Elizabeth Gilbert

Is it just me?

Is it just me or does Kristin Stewart ALWAYS look naked!?

I mean, I know that she's NOT TECHNICALLY nakie but that's A LOT of legs.

Ew

Dear Vagisil Advertising People,

I am not a squeamish person. I work in a hospital and over the past few years I've discovered a lot about the human body and have come to the informed conclusion that human body doesn't hold a lot that I can't handle. Granted, the concept of an episiotomy (or the alternative "tearing") does give me a little bit of the willies but that's mostly the ouch factor speaking.

That being said, your new Vagisili Satin commercial, just takes it a damn step too far. Clearly stating the purpose of your product is one thing, but might I suggest revisiting your choice of adjectives for this commercial?

I am female and I may in my lifetime require such a medicated goo and even I don't want to watch that commercial.

We need to take it down a notch please.

Sincerely,

Anna Kukulka

An Amazing Day

2010 Susan G. Komen South Florida Race for the Cure

January 30, 2010

5K

Thank you SO SO SO much to everyone who donated to help me reach my goal of $150 towards breast cancer research. It was only a 5K run but it was done in honor of the women who have fought and continue fight this devestating disease. Over 20,000 people came together yesterday to give their sweat, their time, their money and their voices in the search for a cure . It was an amazing experience and an event that I am SO PROUD to have been a part of.

Quote of the Day

"I have a permanent weggie. It doesn't matter what style of underwear I try, my ass is just the kind that eats underwear."

- Anonymous for the sake of the Internet
(you know who you are!!)

I just don't understand sometimes....

More than once in my life I have paused from whatever I was doing and thanked God, Allah, my lucky stars, Mother Earth and the intelligent universe at large for having been born where and when I was. Not only was I born in the West, free from extreme oppression under religious law, but I was born to a generation endowed with opportunities and freedoms that outstrip those of all previous generations. I can vote, own property and sign legal documents; things that my grandmother couldn’t necessarily do. Being an airline pilot is just as, if not more feasible than being an airline attendant. My education, independence and profession are the prime factors most people use when deciding if I am “successful” or not. The fact that at 25 I am unmarried goes not only (generally) unquestioned but is seen as a testament to my ambition and the loftiness of my personal and professional goals – I am free from a stigma that actively pursued my mothers’ generation.

Freedom from these stigmas hasn’t come cheap. Women in previous generations worked hard for these, and we continue to work hard to keep them and get more. We work hard for our independence and as a reward get to go where and do what we want. Sometimes that means embracing derogatory terms such as “slut” or “whore” if it means having the right to define and express our physicality and sexuality however we see fit. Not saying that it’s necessary or indicative of confidence and freedom, but women today dress far less conservatively, with fewer compunctions about it than previous generations (with the exception of possibly the 70’s.) Yet (and I finally come to my point) what I truly do not understand, is why in a time when women are freely and openly expressing their sexuality through their clothing, will women not change in the locker room at the gym!

There are private little changing booths at the gym for those who wish to change in private. After working out the other day, I was untying my shoes and watched a young woman toddle in wearing giant heels (fierce one might say) a tight skirt and a low cut sweater. She looked great. Into the booth she goes and emerges moments later in spandex shorts and a sports bra. All I can think is….really? What’s with the false modestly all of a sudden? You’re clearly proud of your body (and should be) but in possibly the safest of all environments you need a private booth to change? I watched this little sequence repeat itself over and over with an array of women of all different shapes, sizes, but not age. This seems to be a habit of only women early thirties and younger. Why do they choose that moment, that place, to suddenly become (or give in to) 'modestly' and insecurity? Especially when older women walk around in their none-sies, seemingly without compunction. I envy that. The confidence and comfort to realize that, a.) nobody really cares and b.) even if they do, that's their problemo.

I am baffled by this idiosyncrasy that seems abundant with women.