fem·i·nist [fem-uh-nist] adjective 1. advocating social, political, legal, and economic rights for women equal to those of men.*
I used to be afraid I'd be stuck in a training bra forever. For awhile I didn't wear one. My grandmother would yell at me. I told her I was a feminist. I didn't know what it meant. A part of me wishes I could go back* to that time of AA's instead of DD's. One less thing to define me. Maybe then I could be free of the restraints.
Eyeliner seemed ridiculous. Poking yourself in the eye with an 8 dollar glamor crayon. Crayola sells them for 15 cents. Always was cheap - Not the makeup - Not the crayon. I don't leave the house without it.
I used to be afraid of tampons. They grossed me out. They confused me. I didn't understand how you could stick something "up there" and walk straight. I'd be surprised how much it can handle. Strength. Numbers. Endurance. But, I still can't walk straight.
I used to be afraid of the boogeyman. The darkness in the closet. The monster under my bed. I was a smart kid. I knew they were there all along under the comforter beneath the sheets next to my fragile body stealing my sliced heart and ******* the rest.
The monsters wear a disguise. Rubber. If you're lucky. Without the water balloon and crossed fingers your stomach fills nine months times its size. So they say. I still like to believe it's an old wive's tale. And I refuse to be an old wife.
I never considered thongs underwear. I considered them floss. Why wear one when you could just go bare *** and achieve the same result? Now I floss regularly. Hygiene is important. Clean my mouth. Well, might as well brush my teeth while I'm at it.
I used to be afraid I'd grow up and couldn't eat Popsicles anymore. As if chasing after the icecream truck was something prescribed to a little girl in spaghetti straps ******* only her thumb. Innocence lost. I don't like Popsicles anymore. Unless they're cherry flavor.