I’m the Slut in the Grocery Store

I am your sexy eye candy.

I’m only here for you to stare at, to whistle at, to mumble comments under your breathe like some creepy mustached pervert.

This is obviously what I want.

This is why I came here.

I got up this morning and chose clothing based solely on how I thought you would react.

I was looking for a reaction.

To the guy I met in the grocery store today…is this what you think of me? Because when I walked past you, toting my little shopping basket, you paused in the aisle. Your eyes did an exaggerated roving gesture, full head tilt and all, from my feet to my chest and back down. You never even made eye contact with me.

“Damn that looks good,” you said.

That?

That as in my dress, because you can’t have it. It won’t fit you and it really isn’t your color, dude.

Or that as in my body, because that’s not some thing that you get to just give your approval of, claim like an image you post on Facebook of some car/shirt/pair of shoes/house that you want. My body doesn’t go in that list.

But it’s okay, because I ignored you. I said nothing and kept right on walking.

I went and got the bread I came there for.

Except I met you in the line and you were saying it again.

“That looks good.”

And I ignored you.

And then you said, “Bitch.”

Now, because I ignored you…because I didn’t turn around and give you the green-light to go ahead with your degrading attempt at flirting…I’m a bitch.

slutSo now I’m a bitch who came to the grocery store dressed up simply to tease you into thinking you had a chance, because that’s obviously the only reason I would have for coming to the grocery store and I just knew you’d be here.

I must be a tease as well.

That’s me: the slutty, bitch, dick-tease at the grocery store.

You have said less than ten words to me, but they were powerful enough to put me in my place, to make me feel tiny, insignificant…wrong.

So when I turn and blast you. When I growl out, “Just shut up.” When I practically run to my car and lock the doors and head back home to change my clothing, because I don’t want to go to my children’s school in a dress anymore. When I feel less pretty and wipe off my lipstick, because I worry it makes me look like a slut…

Just know that all you had to say was, “You look nice today.”

And I would have smiled.

And I wouldn’t have been a bitch and you wouldn’t have altered my day in such a negative way.

I would have smiled.

I would have said, “Thank you.”

 Herstory Lesson: Don’t let someone else’s ignorance mess with your identity…or your day.

 

Wake Up a Woman

I recently asked some of my readers what their favorite story or poem was from each of my books. After figuring out which was the most popular, I decided to post that choice here.

But that’s not all, because that would be relatively boring.

Not really…but this part is more exciting!

I’m doing another contest!

CONTEST CONTEST CONTEST

Yep. You could win a copy of one of my books…I’ll even let you choose. All you have to do is find me on Facebook (http://facebook.com/HistoryofaWoman) and LIKE my page. Yep. That’s it. I’ll gather all the new names and on December 15th will draw a winner. That’s only a few days! So get on Facebook and click that Like button!

Now, for the reader’s choice from my first book, Wake Up a Woman:

This is an Uprising

I need your attention

for just a moment,

a minute,

an ounce of your time

and you better give it

’cause I’ll only say this once.

I need you to know

that I’m okay.

I’m alright.

I’ve settled my accounts

and I know who I am,

and I’ve accepted that.

I have a firm grip

on my identity,

and what you think of me

is just as true

as what I think of me,

and that’s alright.

You hear me?

It’s alright,

’cause I can handle

the way you describe me to your mother.

I’m an artist,

a student,

a tutor,

a writer.

I actually read for fun.

I’m a Goddess of the Household Duties:

the Queen of the Laundry,

the Ruler of the Dishes,

I can make bread,

fry bacon,

boil eggs,

and bake a cake,

all the while

showing my dominance

over the hills of coffee grounds.

And I’m alright

with the way you talk about me

to all your friends.

“She’s a freak in bed,

got an amazing ass,

and gives the best head.

Don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like my,

my sweet,

my baby,

my doll,

my love?”

And all those other sweet,

choke-on-the-sugar

words you spill in my ear at night.

I’m a “cunt,

a bitch,

a whore,

and a slut,”

whenever you’re pissed,

and that’s alright.

I’ll be that,

as long as you get to be

a “douchebag,

an asshole,

a dickhead,

and a bastard.”

I’m the Master of Imagination

and I make one hell of a Mother.

So, you promise your own

a herd of screaming,

wailing,

red-faced babies,

and that’s alright

’cause I’ve done it before and

I’ll do it again.

Ain’t nothing to it!

I’m a taxi driver,

a short order cook,

a night owl,

an instant human,

just add coffee,

an amazing

baby-making machine.

I’m a cow with a pump

hooked to my chest

and I’m feeding the world.

I’m a woman,

a daughter,

a sister,

a mother.

I’m a friend,

and enemy,

a lover,

an ex –

I’m a woman,

so at times

I’m PMS personified.

I’ve got every limb I need

to kick your ass

and might just have

the strength to do it!

I have been stepped on,

stepped around,

and I’m stepping it up.

I’ve been trampled,

I’ve been beaten,

bruised,

and scarred.

I’ve been raped

and forced,

pushed

and pulled.

I’ve fallen down

and got back up.

Sometimes, I just laid there

and took it.

I’m weak and frail,

but I’m not porcelain.

I’m girly in ribbons and bows,

but I got a pair of nuts

to make Chuck Norris jealous.

Are you listening to me?

I’m telling you I’m alright.

I’m okay.

I can look in the mirror

and know every day

just who I am

and who you think I am,

and that’s alright too.

I am unknown,

uncaring,

unaffected,

unemotional,

and in charge.

I’m the leader of this pack,

the glue that holds the family together,

and I’m only out in the open

screaming at the top of my lungs

when it gets to be too much,

too often.

I don’t drink

’cause I’ve got a low tolerance

and one of them would have me

on a tabletop somewhere,

losing clothes

like I’m losing hair.

I dance like a white chick,

all elbows and knees.

I sing like a wounded cat

and play drums on my steering wheel.

I’m a woman so I can’t drive,

can’t parallel park

and can’t reverse.

I’m run into

and away from

and around

mailboxes,

ditches,

people,

responsibilities.

I like language

and can’t master my own,

but I’m a true professional

at the Art of Sarcasm.

I say, “I’m fine”

when I’m not,

and “nothing’s wrong”

when everything is.

And “whatever” is the equivalent

to a nuclear warhead

landing on your face.

Do you understand me?

‘Cause I’m a woman

and I want you to listen

as much as I want to talk.

I’m me.

I’m alright with that.

I’m okay.

I’m stoic.

I can look in the mirror

and I know who I am.

I’ve been stabbed

and poked

a million times

by needles of every shape

and size.

I treat my body like a canvas

and here I am,

a work of art.

I dye my hair

like I change my underwear.

So you can take

a new girlfriend to bed,

red,

brown,

blonde,

black,

blue,

purple.

Doesn’t matter,

I’ll be what you want.

It’s amazing

what a little

Revlon,

Maybelline,

L’Oreal,

Vicadin,

Exlax,

cocktail can do to a woman.

I am Cosmo,

Maxim,

Playboy,

and Good Housekeeping.

I wear skinny jeans

on my fat days.

I wear pantyhose

to streamline

a beeline

straight to my boobs.

I wear a bra

’cause some man said I should,

even though

I got nothing to put in it.

So I’m thankful for Victoria

and her Secret

gave me something to expose.

I’m a model,

a calendar girl,

a rockstar,

in my mirror with a hairbrush

and I’m belting out the tunes

of punk rock,

oldies,

metal,

and the classics.

I’m a country girl

with an affinity

for hip-hop.

I am tuneless,

tasteless,

careless,

and passionate.

Are you still here?

Hang on,

’cause I’ve only just begun.

I’ve just got going,

just got started,

and I’m not there yet.

I’m equipped with high tech

plug-ins.

I’ve got a vagina,

a pussy,

a cunt,

a hole,

and it’s been stabbed,

and poked,

prodded,

and stretched.

It’s bled,

and pushed out life.

I’ve got an attraction

and you can’t deny it.

It’s dress and silk in the day,

and leather and lace at night,

And I don’t get it,

I’m confused,

but I roll with it.

‘Cause you want it,

and I can handle it.

I do.

I’ve seen myself do it.

I am uptight,

upbeat,

upchucking,

and this is an uprising.

This is an acceptance,

of who I am,

and who you make me.

And that’s alright.

It’s okay.

I’m telling you I can handle it.

I’m allowing,

alluring,

and an illusion.

I am me.

I am woman.

And I’m alright.

Want a copy now? Click the picture to go straight to Amazon! AVAILABLE ON KINDLE.

Want a copy now? Click the picture to go straight to Amazon! AVAILABLE ON KINDLE.