'Sexyyyy, everything about you so sexyyyyy'
When I was 21 I lived with a guy called Mal. He had a weakness for good red wine and a signature dish called 'pasta surprise' (the surprise being that it consisted of whatever we had rotting at the bottom of the fridge). Having just graduated and being in questionable employment, we lived for the weekend and many nights of those weekends were spent in a Birmingham club called DV8.
At some point every night the song Just A Little, by Liberty X would come on. At which point we would clear a considerable space on the dance floor and in it we would perform a semi choreographed routine involving a lot of body rolls. Despite the song's core message, it was not sexy. And that was okay. I wasn't trying to be sexy because deep down I have never believed I can be sexy. I hope you appreciate me sharing this with you because I'm not in the habit of drawing attention to my shortcomings. My general theory is that, on the off chance you haven't noticed them, I'm not gonna point them out.
Recently I was having a drink with a friend and shared with her that it had actually felt like an advantage not feeling sexy in my youth. It meant I could step out of the 'race' and focus on other aspects of my life. She looked at me earnestly and said, 'But you are sexy.' No matter how much I dodged and weaved her assertion, she kept repeating it like some sort of gin fuelled flood therapy. She didn't convince me but I did think that if she could see it, maybe I could find it...
On day one of my mission I had my first migraine. At this point I must apologise to the migraine sufferers of the world for my years of secretly believing that migraines are just headaches with hype. It was a waking nightmare. I tried the self care method and smothered myself in moisturiser and put on nice PJs but I went to bed feeling more sticky than sexy.
The next day I tried the full face of make up route. Generally when given the choice between sleep and slap, some extra zzzz's wins every time. I made an effort, employed Peppa Pig for ten minutes, and got my face on. Unfortunately I eat like I'm training for a sport not yet invented, so I spent the whole day worried about my lippie and self conscious is not sexy.
The next day I thought I'd cracked it. I went to a dance class. I love dancing but since Roscoe's birth I spend much more time thinking about going dancing than doing it. As I tried to trot along with the steps I felt silly and excited, in the arena of sexy but in the really cheap seats.
So I decided I just don't have any sexy and that's okay. I didn't need sexy, sexy wasn't my soul. I woke the next day feeling confident I knew myself and I had my post down and that's probably why when I was going about my business and a street charity fundraiser approached me, I met his gaze. I listened carefully to his spiel on how my support could save hundreds of orphaned sea turtles, after which he said, 'Could you spare just eight pounds a month?' I smiled warmly and said,
'I could, but I don't want to.' His eyes opened wide in surprise and then he laughed and said,
'That was blunt but very endearing.' I walked away with a kind of fizzy feeling inside me that crackled and buzzed and made me feel a bit light headed and suddenly I realised, I had found my sexy!
I sent my husband heartfelt text messages and not just missives to get milk; I offered cheeky but honest advice to my colleagues. I replied to my emails with a bit more sass. My sexy is opening my heart and letting it pour out through my words, with no fear of the consequences. What's yours?
You might still have time to win some party supplies
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