Fat Bottom Girl Said What

When my ass talks, people listen.

Archive for the tag “wrinkles”

You Say It’s Your Birthday?

It’s my birthday too. So sayeth the Beatles.

I just realized this morning while putting makeup over laugh lines, and skin that’s not so taut anymore, that in about a week, I will be 45.

Throughout the day I contemplated. I didn’t contemplate my entire life up to this point, just this last year. It’s been a doozie.

What did Dickens say? They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. Or something similar. A year of extremes. A study in contrasts. That’s what my 44th year has been.

The worst of times because I found myself in a physically abusive relationship.

The best of times because I decided I was worth more than I thought and I deserved better than being someone’s punching bag.

The worst of times because my son decided he wanted to try living with his dad, after I’d had him with me for his first 12 years.

The best of times because my son returned home to me only a few shorts months after moving in with his dad, albeit with some painful lessons under his belt.

The worst of times because I found myself alone, and quite lonely, and thinking that possibly, I should come to terms with the fact I might spend the rest of my life that way. But, also figuring out that being alone, was better than being beat or emotionally abused.

The best of times because I met a wonderful man. I had sent wishes out to the universe for this man for years. I had hoped in vain for this man for years. But I now believe that it wasn’t until I decided, until I truly believed inside of me, that I deserved better for myself, that the universe sent him. Strange how that works, huh?

Life is yin and yang, and a whole lot of other shit in between. And as I stand poised, ready to slide into my 45th year, do I think it’s going to change? Do I think it’s going to get any easier? No. I’ve learned enough to know that anything worth having doesn’t usually come easy. Plus, I’m kind of one of those girls who has to learn things the hard way. Some lessons it took me 44 years to learn.

I know there are more grey hairs and more wrinkles and tears and frustration in store for me. But there’s also more laughter and love and adventure in store for me too. You need the dark and the light, both sides of the coin, the rain and the sun. You have to have one in order to truly appreciate the other. I’ve figured that out in my 44 years too.

So 45 is only a few days away I told him, and My Man reminded me it’s only a number.

And I in turn reminded myself I have a hot, younger man. 45 can kiss my fat bottom!

Photo Credit: deviantart.com

Photo Credit: deviantart.com

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The Story of My Body

Photo Credit:  absolutearts.com

Photo Credit: absolutearts.com

My body tells a story.

Every scar, every wrinkle, every stretch mark, every tattoo, every gray hair,
Reminds me of who I am and where I have come from.

It tells me that once I was a daredevil on roller skates and a bike,

That I have laughed millions of times, and that my face has been salted by tears.

It shows the marks of a mother’s love;
one whom I have had the pleasure of loving intensely and close-up,
and another from far away who will never understand the limits of my love.

See my love for nature, and my birthplace, and one of the most beautiful flowers I know because of its wildness and simplicity?

And my longing for water because it soothes the turbulence in me?

See my desire for flight from all that binds my soul? My longing to cast off others’ ideas about me and my quest to be beautiful in my own right and to love freely?

My need to feel balance in my life which seems so off-kilter at times because of my intense passions?

Oh, and there’s that graying hair,
Peeking through the fiery red I have applied which represents my personality so well.
I will never let the world see my true age, at least in my hair, because I feel younger than my 43 years.

Do you see my story?

Look closely.

My body?

It sings my song. . . .

**I came across this while I was digging through files in my computer today in search of tax information. In another month I will be 45. I have more wrinkles. I have more scars. I have more gray hair; which I now attempt to cover with something besides the fiery red. My body still sings my song. Nothing will silence it, but in the end it’s just a house. A house for my soul, which is the most beautiful part of me.

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