Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: PRIDE (inflated opinion of one’s self) (02/19/15)
- TITLE: The Importance of Being Earnestly Me
By Judith Gayle Smith
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Ridiculous. When I was easily influenced by the current doll of the moment, it was either the Betsy Wetsy or the mama squeaky-voiced baby doll with the hard composition head and the overfilled cloth body and clacking hard limbs.
What did I aspire to be? The baby or the sex symbol? Both? Yes, indeedy. I wanted to be mega-attractive, yet sweetly dependent, needy, hungry for love and attention.
I prided myself on rejecting french-fries - my waistline and my complexion being more important than my overeager taste buds. I exercised faithfully every day to maintain an hourglass figure: thirty-eight, twenty-three and three quarters, thirty-six.
I added glamour by bleaching my protesting hair strawberry blonde - which promptly turned green when I had to have a permanent. My reworked curly crop was two inches of ghastly green - not attractive at all. I pasted false nails on my unattractive nail-bitten fingers. Always a delight to have boyfriends paste them back on.
I lived on diet shakes and wee boxes of raisins. I was hungry and cranky - again, not attractive at all.
But my mirror caressed my womanly frame, my glorious re-grown Farah Fawcett hairstyle, my vampish long-lashed green eyes.
I avoided the sun and got my fabulously bright orange tan from a bottle. Stunning. People compared me to the actress Karen Black. They still do, actually - in her last few horror movies. Some have teasingly suggested Lassie as a look-alike which doesn't faze me, Lassie had gorgeous hair.
I proudly kept myself pure for my someday husband.
At twenty-six I married a man who was later pronounced asexual with latent homosexuality.
He tossed my pride out the window and substituted rejection.
I breezed through school, enjoying my supposed intelligence. I was lazy, not seeking beyond for my potential. I bragged about the time spent reading, writing - and couldn't brag on the 'rithmetic. I listened, I absorbed, I trained to become the best senior claims analyst I could be.
I developed Chronic Fatigue. Threw all my smarts into a cocked hat and watched helplessly as my brain slid sideways.
I prided myself on my Bible knowledge. Ask me a question. Go ahead. I will answer you chapter and verse. I sang in the choir, taught Sunday School and carried the Word proudly - almost arrogantly. I wowed my first husband with my professed faith.
Professing faith is not necessarily possessing faith. Two and a half years into a doomed marriage, I left, hysterically - and found someone to validate my "womanliness."
I committed adultery.
It appears I spent far too much time preparing my physical dimensions, not enough time developing my mental capabilities, and no time at all nurturing my spiritual needs.
I cannot brag about my physical appearance today, nor do I need to.
I ran out of plaudits for "smarts", with Chronic Fatigue and brain fog from Fibromyalgia.
Would I still remain a virgin until I married?
Yes. And pray that I would meet my now hubby first.
Would I still slack off in school because it was so easy?
Would I still wave my Bible instead of reading it?
I love God's Word - and now find it much more appropriately satisfying to kneel in appreciation than to wrap myself in self-adulation.
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