I’ve reached a sort of crossroads in my vanity. When I first converted to Christianity, I was convinced that I was a spiritual danger to every man within sight. Not because I was so amazingly good-looking, but because I was female and we all know men are dogs and feel the incredible urge to rut on every woman who displays so much as a clavicle or a knee.
They. Just. Can’t. Control. Themselves.
Well, it’s 11 years later, and now I’ve realized that nobody’s checking me out. It was all just wishful thinking, on my part.
This is partly because I’ve passed my shag-by date, but it’s also just because men have other things to do than to stare at me. I wish it weren’t so, obviously, but I’m much more comfortable with my appearance now that I realize that nobody actually cares what I look like. Well, nobody cares as long as I don’t look like a frumpy slob or a prostitute, or something else extreme.
Oddly enough, when I looked like a frumpy slob I felt like more of a sexpot. Modesty can lead to its own perversion and it really stroked my ego. People stare at me less, and smile at me more, now that I’m dressed like a normal person.
Now, this doesn’t mean that men don’t see me or notice me, but that wearing narrow straps on my sundress or my hair down isn’t going to cause some sort of a stir. It just isn’t.