There are plenty of compliments that I always want to give women in my everyday life. I am a woman in America and just like every other woman in America, I am aware of how great I am expected to look, about great legs, great personal style, great skin, great asses, great breasts, and the ones that are not so great and whether I have one of the ones that are not so great. So obviously I notice when other women look sexy, hot; they look like everything I want to look like. Or, I already look as great as they do, but I will certainly acknowledge that we both look great. I notice their amazing legs, how nice their jeans fit around their curves… and I wish I could say all those things to them; “Hey hon, you look beautiful and sexy today!” To compliment is especially tempting in Boulder, where everyone is beautiful and sexy. Plus, I know that even though they are hotter than the sun, that most of them do still need the reassurance. But I don’t tell them these compliments because that’s just weird; they’ll take it the wrong way, like I’m coming on to them, and even though lesbianism is more acceptable than ever before, my well meaning will still be more of a turn off than the sincere compliment it was meant to be—a shameless come-on, blatant objectification.

Compliments

On the other hand I think it is perfectly possible to think someone looks sexy without wanting to actually have sex with them. I wouldn’t tell some guy that his butt looks great either, even though it does, again, because he’ll think I’m hitting on him too. Man, can’t a guy just have a nice butt, without assuming that I live for his nice butt? Not today; we’re too paranoid, to pervertaphobic. We are as afraid of sincere compliments as we are afraid of death and defeat.

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