And I'm not talking bout the housekeys which took over a month to be returned after the threat of changed locks and bills.
No, I'm talking bout my mojo. He took it, and I want it back.
The zsa zsa zu, the purrrrrrr factor, the little something something that makes me want to wear heels a little higher and smack my glossed lips to match the batting eyelashes.
Nope, that sex kitten has packed her bags and left Meghanville, population .05. And it's embarrassing. I like flirting with guys. I'm good at it. Or at least I used to be. Same with sex. I'm sure it's like the riding the bike rules but fear by the time I get around to wanting some sexing I'll be back with tricycle wheels and a helmet.
I want to go out there and eyeball potential suitors for a date. I want to dress up and feel sexy and wear my feminism on my sleeve. I miss flirty witty banter and intellectual conversations with sexy nerdy men who flirt even if they don't realize it. I miss lusting after movie stars and fantasizing about the lead characters in the novels I read. I might as well trade in'Twilight' for an Oprah magazine. Yeah, it's that bad.
I live in yoga pants and makeup is an afterthought. Sexuality has all but been lost and forgotten from my daily thoughts and actions. There is no swagger in my step, no sway in my hips when I dance. Bedroom eyes are no more. Coquetteish momements have become clumsy and awkward. Innuendo has been replaced by irritated looks and even "self" love has lost its appeal. I use the batteries to go with the discman and the badass Spanish tapes.
I'm not going to go out there and have a one night stand or casual sex to prove I still got it. I know I still got it somewhere. Deep down in the cackles, or the subcackles. I just need to find something, or someone to help bring it back.
But what? Guess I'll have to work on that.