I watch women. Of a type. How they flirt and play and giggle....it all sounds like wind chimes on a light breeze. Curling hair around a finger tip and then pull it through like Cat's Cradle. They have matching outfits....with scarfs. Scarfs. I don't have a scarf except my Scooby Doo one that I use to wipe snot when I shove driveways in the snow. I see how they gently trace well manicured fingertips across a man's arm. I see the way they walk with a roll in their hips that seems to be connected to some unheard rhythm. I glance at warm painted smiles and upturned eyes. A slow look up and then quick glance down. How do they do that? They say "baby" and don't mean an infant. Do they teach this in school? Was it a lesson I missed? I was absent. I was ill. I wasn't there. I don't know how to be this animal. Who decided that to be desired we needed...to be...needy?
The woman I am. That you may be too. Is too prideful to ask for help. Is too independent not to put a cup over a spider and hope it dies. Is big and loud and not scared to live her whole world in a pair of boots and jeans. We aren't afraid of dirty nails and calluses. We relish a task done by us alone. I freaking fixed the clogged shower. We own our sexuality and our bills. I make my own money and change my own oil. I did both lunches for my baby girl and buisness deals at the same time. What kind of woman are you?
I'm going to be me. My own kind of woman. I want to show the world my gumption...my drive. Show them I'm going to be an army, marching forward, of women that don't do needy. That do needed. We will be your world. We may not have a scarf, but we have badass fortitude. We wrap that around us with solidarity. You won't miss us if you scan a crowd. We meet eyes. We walk with determination in our hips. A saunter in our boots. We have pride across our shoulders. We drape self esteem around our necks. We wear our hard earned lives like jewels. We are beautifully rough. Gorgeously tough. A walking, talking, breath stealing epitome of your best dream. You are lucky if we chose to meet your gaze. Cat's Cradle be damned.