My therapist is Dr. Google

If I manage to make this post have any kind of “flow”, I deserve a freaking award.  Or a book deal.  Consider that your warning.

This morning in the shower I had the usual 7 AM Conversation with myself.

“What in the hell are you going to blog about today?  There was that one funny thing… damn, that may take up two lines.  What was that one thing you were thinking about – remember, you said ‘I have to remember this for my blog’  Shit, your memory sucks these days….”

I went upstairs to get dressed and found myself taking a ridiculously long time to pick something out.  What to wear… what to wear… what says “I’m not trying to seduce your son and yes I am happily married but I do hope you all like me”?

What. The Fuck.  Where did that come from?  Actually, I knew damn well where that came from – ashamed as I may have been to admit it.  I’m having lunch today with my (to steal a phrase from Bonanza because dammit, it fits so well!) Work Husband.  We have lunch every day so that in itself is no big deal.

Last night he called to tell me that we’re having lunch with his mom and grandmother today.

So yes, now I feel some strange sense of meeting the in-laws.  Work In-Laws.  And even though I’ve already met several members of his family and all of his friends, I realized this morning that I was nervous.  Actually, I realized that more than just being nervous, I was thinking about how to make a good impression on them.

Shut up.  I am painfully aware of how fucking inappropriate this entire scenario is.

Anyways, so I continue on with my primping and polishing routine and my mind continues to wander and self analyze.  Why in the hell do I care what these people think?  Why am I going through the extra trouble to add ringlet curls to my naturally curly hairWhy did it take me an extra five minutes to decide what color of eye shadow I would wear?

Because my mother’s right.  Even though I adore my husband and I am one of the luckiest women in the world, I seem to have some sick need to be “wanted” by other men.

On the drive to work, I continue to turn this over in my head.  I wondered if I should blog about this at all.  I wondered if I could simply tell the story of me sharing the Lunch News with my husband last night, in a desperate attempt to make an inappropriate situation more appropriate.  I wondered if I could flesh out enough of a post around the look he gave me that did not say “why the fuck are you boring me with the mundane details of your life” and more read “yes Britt I do see how fucking odd that is”.

I wondered why in the hell I still care what other people think of me.  I wondered what childish insecurities I was still carrying around that I looked for affirmation from people besides my husband.  I wondered if all that was really as bad as it sounded.

Maybe she’s right.  Maybe I’m nothing more than a “plain Jane mother of two” desperately trying to appear “young and hip”.  Has my vanity moved beyond a quirky “part of my charm” to down right pathetic?  Maybe I need to get a fucking grip and realize that I am well beyond any stage in my life where I should even be entertaining the notion of being some kind of “sexy little thing” – except of course in my own husband’s eyes.

I arrived at work and sat down to blog.  I was still not quite sure what to write about, since the thoughts that were really swirling around in my head were far from flattering.  I logged into my site and tried to buy myself a little time by checking out my Google stats.

I checked out the maps and the numbers and the returning visitors vs. first time readers.  I clicked on the Keywords report – where they tell you what words people have used to find your site.

My jaw dropped.

The number one term people use to find this site?

“old sexpots”

Shut. Up.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *