"Cause your daddy thinks it's sexy."
Sexy. What a universe is contained within such a small word. It encompasses ideas so varied, so open to interpretation....googling it may be more frightening than educational. In this crazy maze of variety and taste, (yes, I did once find a calendar in my college roomie's closet--smack me now--it had overweight men in lingerie. I considered lysoling my eyes.) the ideas of what is "sexy" are as varied as the proverbial fish in the sea.
There is a woman I pass frequently in the grocery isles. I probably pass the same 58 people on a regular basis and never realize it--however she is a tad memorable. Possibly a distant relative of Mimi on the Drew Carey Show, she has a passion for ice-blue eye shadow, meticulously applied orange lipstick, and garish Hawaiian print dresses. She resembles Mimi in more than just appearance, I might add. I nearly swallowed my gum when rounding a corner to hear her say to a small boy, "Ya little cracker, takin' up space with yer stupid boots, move it!" While I'm sure she has an endearing sweet side, the ensuing verbal battle between Mimi-twin and Cracker-mom was enough that I skipped the baking isle that day. Cake is simply not worth that particular mess.
But what occurred to me, was that sometime that very morning, she stood in front of a mirror before she left the house and thought, "Damn, I look good!" Most likely she has a husband who thinks she is the cat's meow...and I am truthfully rather grateful for this. The older I get the more I realize that if everyone liked the same thing, half the planet would be screwed! (not literally, mind you)
Which brings me back to sexy. I really wasn't kidding when I told my son that yesterday.
It was August. You could taste the heat....like salt and yellowed grass and pavement. I had been in my studio painting. My hair pulled up, I had paint--as usual--everywhere. My hands, my neck, my tank top was smeared with the colors of sky and sand....I smelled like acrylics and sweat. When I answered the door he said, "God, you're sexy." I laughed....and then we forgot about going out to dinner.
I was raised on a ranch which resulted with a hard ass case of physical labor addiction. Two days ago I spent nearly nine hours sanding and painting the entire front porch (which looks smashing, I must say) and am still sitting here with bruised knees and slivers in my fingers. But I love it. I adore the ache in my legs and the stiff muscles of my back after a hard day of work. And when nine times out of ten, he comes home to this....
Ummm.....yeah. That's me, week one, just after we bought the house last summer. Drywalling.
I know, I know--how can anyone find that sexy?? He does. And this sweat inspired arousal is certainly not one directional! I'll never forget the day--we had been dating only a few months--and he had to change the fuel pump in his jimmy. One of those things that you think will take 2 hours and it takes 6. He came in covered with grease and oil and gasoline...I handed him a beer. And then knocked it to the floor as I nearly tackled him. He now jokes about making a Cologne, "Hard Labor," that smells of a garage.....I get breathless just thinking about it.
However, it raises the question: do we find only the aroma of hard work attractive.....or is it more than that? Could it be possible that the very IDEA of a man working hard, who accomplishes things, makes/builds/fixes things....productivity and creativity and sacrifice--that this is what flips my switch? In a world of couch potatoes and complainers, this dude throws down some scraped knuckles and damn, I melt. Perhaps my pheromones have met my perspicacity? Intelligence encounters lasciviousness.
Hang on....he's just turned off the lawnmower. Catch ya later.....