(Possible TMI warning, but also not because you are currently reading a sex blog so you might expect the forthcoming TMI. Or not. As you will. Just think of this as Schrödinger’s TMI warning.)
I was in bed the other night, mulling over things, as is my wont. As Loverboy slept contentedly beside me, I started thinking about that phenomenon called “the feminine mystique”. Aside from being the title of the book that is widely credited to have brought about the second wave of feminism in the sixties, it’s also the air of mysteriousness that some women like to keep when around their partner.
I don’t know if this is an actual thing or if it just exists in television shows like Sex and the City, but I feel keen on addressing it.
I seem to remember this scene from Gilmore Girls, where Sookie confides in Lorelei that she gets up earlier to do make up so that Jackson, her then-boyfriend, thinks that she really does look like that in the morning.
Then, of course, there’s the famous moment in the first season of Sex and the City where Carrie accidentally farts in bed with Mr. Big. She then spends the rest of the episode absolutely mortified because it happened.
There’s lots of these little moments in the back of my head, and they all mingled into one conclusion. What. The. Fuck?
It’s only my opinion, but I just want to let it be known that I consider this a steaming heap of bullshit.
Hiding bodily functions and morning hair from your partner is like letting them know that you’re not actually human. You are basically confirming that you’re some sort of alien that doesn’t fart and always looks like Heidi Klum in the morning. That shouldn’t happen.
I’m not saying that you should go full-on Terrance and Philip and parp in your partner’s face, but I am saying that it’s perfectly okay to not immediately comb your crazy morning hair or to have a bit of a burp in front of them. They won’t think any less of you. They’ll just be very pleased they’re in a relationship with a normal person.
Thus ended my tiny rant.
I feel compelled to add the following, which may make me sound like an eejit, but hey.
It took me a very long time to realize that Loverboy wouldn’t think any less of me if I did any of this stuff in front of him. It eventually stopped when he (and I kid you not) walked in on me throwing up one night. He didn’t bat an eyelid, which I applaud and love him for. From then on, I realized that it was perfectly okay to be normal.