Wedge be praised.
When the original article first blighted my Facebook newsfeed (courtesy of several right-wing Southern neo-Christians), and curiosity had its way with me, I reached the last sentence and...I'm hard to shame as far as human sexuality goes; I consider it a waste of time and a slap in biology's face. But for the most uncharacteristic moment, I felt dirty. Dirty for ever walking with a little extra sway in my hips, dirty for ever writing graphic sex scenes with a little too much relish, dirty for ever choosing a bang-pow red lip over a discreet nude, dirty for ever leaving my house in anything more revealing than, for instance, a body bag.
Surely, I thought once I regained my mental footing, I can't be the only one thinking, if her saintly boyspawn can't see a braless girl (And how many of us wear a tit harness under our peejays?) without reducing her to a monodimensional phallus receptacle, doesn't that say more about THEM than HER?
Surely we're all within our rights to proudly display whatever character trait has the floor at a given time, be it desirability, intellect, compassion, nerdiness, or modesty?
Surely "moral purity" is a case-by-case concept, and to the extent that no-one is killed, injured, or otherwise screwed over, no side of your personality is worth more basic respect, courtesy, and self-control than the others?
What a relief to know I'm not alone in this. After all, while my handsome, sexy, brilliant, witty fiancé has an obvious fetish for the junk in my trunk, it doesn't prevent him from acknowledging the contents of my brain or heart just as often.
Danielle's Faith in Humanity: Commanding Lead
Kimberly Hall's Self-Righteous Outrage: Goose Egg