My husband thinks I don't have cellulite. Seriously. The reason he adheres to this fallacy is because he has never actually seen me naked. He thinks he has, he would swear he has and, in fact, he would state that I have a smokin' hot bod. We live together, sleep together, swim together. I don't hide, wear caftans, or any sort of body make-up. Heck, I don't even wear spanx, they make me feel fat like a sausage. I'm a whisper of smoke and it comes as easy to me as taking a breath. You see, I hate nudity.
Hate. It. I come by it genetically. I don't believe any woman in my mitochondrial line has ever been seen naked. I coyly avert my eyes when my husband is in the buff, I don't like naked. Period. I don't like it in movies, changing rooms, gyms, magazines, or my bedroom. I'm not advocating that my aversion to nudity is right or wrong, it just is what it is. I don't hate my body, on the contrary, I respect my body and love what it has done for me and what it has given me. I tend to it and care for it. I just don't like looking at naked people and I don't like them looking back at me.
On a recent golf weekend it was reported that my husband told his buddies that I have the body of a playboy playmate. Again, seriously? I am 47 years old and have had five children, the old fashioned way...one at a time. Now, to be fair, I just may have the body of a playmate. I can't be sure as I don't look at my naked body either. Only my embalmer will know for sure. I can't tell you how this illusion is carried out, I don't believe it can be taught, it's like having ESP or being double-jointed. It's a little slight of hand, a little smoke and mirrors, a few sexy, flowy items and a strategically placed sheet or towel. It's the way I can make it from a pool to a lounge chair without nary a glimpse of a thigh. I'm that good.
My grandma always said "leave them wanting more". My husband doesn't even know that there is more.
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