While I was sitting in the post office waiting to submit my passport application, I watched as the postal worker became full of life every time he had an applicant who needed their photograph taken. He had a bit of a bounce in his step as he grabbed the camera. “Tilt your head up. A little bit less. That’s it.” He reviewed each picture meticulously while we waited patiently.
“Turn your head and look at me! I know you can see me through the corner of your eye as you spray disinfectant on that paper towel. Let me know you acknowledge me by turning your head.”
This is what my body is saying. I have no control over it. My back straightens without my consent. I have no control over the accentuated movements of my thighs and buttocks while I move up and down. By the time I have control, I go along with it.
I’m not even attracted to him. His body is too short and stubby. He looks like a hobbit. I want a man who is at least six feet tall. A man who can wrap me up with his body. Like a comfortable blanket. But this does not matter to my body because it craves the acknowledgment. My body does not rationalize. My body does not think about the long term plans. It does not think about what our kids would look like or the success of our future.
All of these people surround me and non of them see me.