Beautiful from Behind

Last year, I noticed my first wrinkle while on the way to dinner with my then boyfriend's parents. Right between my eyebrows, clear as day, reminding everyone that I scrunch up my brows too much. Try as I might, I can't stop running my finger over it.

Then there's my ever growing collection of grey hairs. And cellulite. And hips that seem to widen every time I go to sleep. And a stomach that is not flat despite the optimistic claims of Nivea. I'll acknowledge that I'm pretty, but not beautiful by any means. In addition to that horrible wrinkle, I have a tiny birth mark on my upper lip that appears massive to me. This is overshadowed, of course, by the enormous nose I inherited from my father. Obsessing over these things is not unique to me. All the women I know have these same fixations, these same inconvenient little truths about our bodies.

Getting into my bath tub, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored doors of my closet, and for the first time in ages, became positively fixated on the beauty of my body. The perfect outer curve of my thigh leading up to wide hips which taper off into a small waist. This is all topped off with strong, broad shoulders and well defined blades. An hour glass dripping with inked raindrops and magnolia flowers. Say what you will, but I am beautiful from behind.