I am hardly an expert on beauty.
I don’t know how to french braid (too many pieces of hair, not enough hands).
I can’t paint my nails on my right hand without painting most of my fingers (my five year old son gives a better manicure).
I have never had a bikini wax. Or had my eyebrows done. I tend to tend to my own hair related maintenance (or, perhaps as you’ve already read and sent me a scathing message about, NOT tend to it).
If you asked me guess what size jeans you wore, I’d probably be in the ballpark–plus or minus 2-3 sizes. I only know the size of “I will never be that thin again” and after that, they all sort of look the same to me.
So imagine my surprise when I was thrust into the (very-dim, barely still lit, highly unexpected, holistically undeserved) spotlight recently by the appearance of my blog post: This Blog is Going to Embarrass My Husband on a national level.
One day, I was poking around my blog, a few trusty fans in my corner (my dental hygenist, my husband, my neighbor, maybe an ex-boyfriend or two who was worried I would tell the world about their weird fetishes) contemplating just how much of my sex life I could share without losing my mom as a follower (and thus reducing my readership by 10 percent) and the next day I had 4 MILLION PEOPLE make their way to my blog.
Now it’s been said before, but it bears repeating, my friends, I am not very good at math. But if you carry the one and multiply the denominator by 14 and use that thing that looks like a long-handled checkmark, you come up with the following sum: THAT’S A LOT OF PEOPLE.
And that is some scary shit, let me tell you.
Because most of the time (Editor’s Note—ALL OF THE TIME) I have no clue what I am doing. As a mom, as a wife and certainly as a writer.
I am, as most everyone who knows me and my yoga pants will attest, not an expert on anything. (Except maybe flavored coffee creams—I’m really fluent in coffee cream).
And I want to clarify two small points, since I can and I have nothing else really going on.
First, I had no desire in ANY way to skinny shame or fat shame or anything in between with my post. I am pro-body, period. And pro-acceptance. And I am a hearty heterosexual woman who can say, truly, that I find all bodies beautiful, truly. Truly. If you saw my friends, my children, my family, you would see that this is how I live not just what I say.
And second, no one can convince me that healthy equals (XXXX). I know healthy skinny people and healthy thicker people. I think strong equals healthy, and brave equals sexy. And whatever that manifests itself to be in terms of weight or size or shape, so be it. But those who want to say that there is some definite physical manifestation of healthy, I respectfully disagree.
Finally, since I have received so many emails, messages, comments, I just wanted to say Thank You for reading and for being here and for taking the time to go back and browse through the last few years of my life.
And I SO want to highlight some of those wonderful messages and emails in a blog post so you can see just how many people–women and men—have similar stories to my own. It’s amazing and so comforting. I can’t wait to share them with you!
But that’s a post for a later time.
Right now, I have a pressing matter to attend to and you might want to avert your eyes, because it’s about to get real up in here. I thought that in light of the overwhelming number of comments I have received on the post that I would take some time to have a gentle back and forth, publicly, with some of the more vocal objectors on the thread. I tried SO hard, friends—to answer each and every message with courtesy and kindness, which are two of the rules with which I try (TRY) to guide my life.
And I can take a joke and make fun of myself better than anyone I know (you read my work! you know!) but there were a few comments that were just…cut throat.
Why? I don’t get it.
But it seemed only fair that they should have their opinions heard.
And it seemed only fair, in turn, that I respond.
And so here are the replies I WANTED TO MAKE and I guess…sort of did.
In my own way.
Talking About The Prettiest Wife in The World
AKA: Nicole Talks to The Haters (Hater’s gonna hate, hate, hate, hate)** (see below)
Did you know that people who are married statistically live longer than those who are not? I know how important a “healthy lifestyle is to you”!
“It’s easier for men to lie to themselves and accept what they have. Sure, that Victoria Secret’s model is hot and that’s what we would prefer — but us men understand we’ll never get that. The girl in bed with stretch marks and bullet holes is real and right here…and she’ll be glad to have sex with us if we compliment her. Sex feels the same with pretty much any woman to a man, double so if the lights are out.”
All of this is so wonderful, I don’t even know where to start! You have such a way with words, I would imagine you are quite a hit with the ladies in your backwards, dark, creepy and remotely isolated town. I have to say, I have met a lot of people, but I don’t know one gal with bullet holes! Yikes!
Also, I don’t know if there is any more beautiful poetry about sex than these few lines from you: “Sex feels the same with pretty much any woman to a man, double so if the lights are out.” It’s pretty much what every woman, every where wants to hear, Dave, so I suggest you tell your dates that early on in the evening, so that they have an early glimpse of just what kind of magic love making with you will be like.
But, Dave, just one last thought, and I’m speaking purely off the cuff here, but have you ever considered that the reason sex feels the same with every woman for you is because of…you? I know all those women you’ve been with have tried to lie to comfort you by saying that size really doesn’t matter to us. They didn’t want you to feel bad.
But here’s the truth. It does matter, Dave.
And it doesn’t all feel the same to us.
Even with the lights out.
All the best,
“You had four kids BEFORE you met him, you must be an awful person.”
Just the other day I was thinking….I can’t tell if I am an awful person, I wonder if there is some sort of barometer on how to judge that sort of thing…oh wait! Yes! The four kids! By jove, that’s how I’ll know!
I might need some further clarification from you on this system of assessing my awfulness though. For example, does just HAVING them make me awful or does having them and BEING DIVORCED equal out to awful? Could you provide me some sort of schematic or equation or maybe a rubric, like 4 Kids is to Awfulness, as People who attack someone on the Internet that they’ve never met is to…?
Anxiously awaiting your followup, a lot of my self-worth hangs in the balance.
All my best,
From: Anonymous (All the really big assholes seem to have the same name)
“Is your husband a heavy drinker?”
Only from the cup of my love. <3 <3 <3
Thanks for the comment!
All my best,