Ever find yourself on the receiving end of an intervention with your best friend? The details may be different, but the gist is always: OH MY GOSH, GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE SAND...YOUR NAÏVETÉ iS TRANSLATING INTO HUSSY-DOM. Anyone??
What happened was....
I was at a girlfriend's house, spending the last few hours with her before she left for vacation. Her hubby offered a piece of advice...if you want a chassis tune up so badly, make a gofundme page. Whaaaa??
To desperate ears, this wreaked of genius. So, I immediately went home and created a gofundme campaign that was sure to earn the moolah that would wipe away my pannis AND get me an "athletic" size pair of chi-chi's in mere moments. I was so proud, in fact, I sent said hubby a message telling him that I took his advice. He told me GOOD! And said that he wouldn't be donating anything but he would gladly buy shares....
I'll pause for gasps and cringes. Yes, he was one of my closest friend's (one of my Ya-ya's) husbands.
BUT, here's where my mental roadblock came in. After all, I'm the "smart one," not the one that people flirt with. I.thought.it.was.funny. I LOL'd and went about my day, never even considering that this was a skeevy comment that may have been thrown out to see if I would bite. In fact, I told him that perhaps I should've posted on my gofundme page that I was selling timeshares...and then I told him to schedule an automatic debit from his paycheck. Never, ever did this enter my mind as "I have just offered to let some guy share my body for money." I just thought he had made a clever joke.
So clever, in fact, that I saw nothing wrong with sharing his wittiness to another friend during regular conversation. And, so begins the intervention.
Long lecture short: My absolute refusal to believe that people are flirting with me makes it look like I'm open for business, or at least playtime.
My punishment: my sweet friend is now pointing out "flirts" by produce men, tire repair guys, and anyone else with ....um......frank and beans that looks in my direction for a moment.
Before you ask, no I am not "baiting the hook." I don't go parading my goodies on the street. Modest is hottest!! But, since this intervention, I want to fashion myself a puff-sleeved compound dress from pink upholstery, braid my hair, and never dare to show an ankle in public again.
The question I'll pose to you is this: has my ignorance encouraged the objectification of my wiggly, jiggly body?? More importantly, instead of having it removed, would it be better to shake my pannis at any produce boy that gives me the full court press?? (After I learn to accept that he has actually done that, of course)
Lesson of the week: sometimes skeeviness disguises itself as cleverness....and it would be better to whip your pannis out than to giggle.