Succubus

Every day, I get up and take care of business, whether that’s caring for my babies or going to my place of employment and doing what needs to be done or trying to catch up on homework. Some days, I’m more successful than others. Some days I actually have the time and energy to put on makeup and put a little pizazz into my hairdo.

The thing about me, something I’ve always kind of known in the back of my mind, is that even though I “clean up good”, I’m always already beautiful, so when I put in that effort I’m damn beautiful. I’m not a model; you won’t find me on the catwalk, the red carpet, or the cover of a magazine. But I don’t have to be. I have that special inner essence–indefinable but there nonetheless.

I’ve tried asking guys who found me attractive to pinpoint what it was exactly. They couldn’t.

I don’t have self confidence (in spite of this seemingly arrogant post) though.

Why?

Because of other women!

You bitches are mean!!!

Okay…maybe that’s not the best way for me to approach this discussion…so let me try a subtler approach:

Your man talks to me. I see him as a nice guy, a friend, but not anyone I would ever want to be with because either:

a) he’s below the standards I’ve set for myself

b) he’s just a “friend zone” kind of guy.

Even if I did want him, he’s your man. I’m not one of those man-stealing slut whores like every girl that my husband ever cheated on me with over the years…I don’t want a guy who is already taken. I don’t want to share. Chances are, even if I did try to approach your man in a more-than-friends kind of way, he’d shoot me down because even if he does find himself fantasizing…and me tantalizing…he chose you. But if I decided to become a man-stealing slut whore…well…if he left you for me that’s really on him and not on me.

I’ll never understand why so many women feel the need to belittle me, point out my flaws, gossip about me behind my back, etc. because of some need to preserve themselves through my emotional demise. I’d rather be a hermit or one of those losers who only makes friends on the internet–oops–than hang out with catty back-stabbing bitches.
So if you catch your guy watching the natural sway of my child-bearing hips, don’t turn your jealousy into venom that you later spit at me. And if you happen to notice your lover boy spending a little too much time reading the message tee that’s a little too tight on account of my 44DDDs…go get some tissue or a boob job and leave me the hell alone!

Yes, I’ve battled with my own femaleness in regards to the jealousy monster. You have to figure out that if he’s yours, he won’t stray and if he does stray he wasn’t yours. Such is the case with my estranged spouse. He was never mine to begin with or he’d still be mine today. And that’s totally fine by me because I wouldn’t take him back now if he showed up on my doorstep on all fours with a single black thorned rose in his teeth and a “please forgive me” sandwich board on his back with a built-in stereo system blaring the greatest love ballads of the last forty years (although that’d be hilarious to record and put on YouTube…). I know he’s incapable of changing. I know I’m incapable of accepting the statu quo any longer.

As for my current man, I have to believe that he’s either meant to be mine for real and we’ll last through the long-distance relationship and the uncertainty inherent in such an arrangement or that he’s not meant to be mine and he’ll figure that out before it hurts me too much, but I cannot fret over the future of our relationship. I have more pressing matters to fret over like my last semester of graduate school and how many different ways I can prepare edamame.

Maya Angelou–Men themselves have wondered what they see in me. They try so much but they can’t touch my inner mystery.

View the full blog at heartchasms.blogspot.com and like the blog on Facebook.

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