It seems that this is going to follow me to my grave, and the sooner I come to terms with it, the better: I am not that slutty.
This monkey climbed on board my back eons ago...junior high, I guess. Puberty. Boob-wise, I blossomed, but they didn't come with a corresponding urge to show them to anyone and everyone who asked. I never learned how to hook a thumb in one side of my panties and pull that side down ever so slightly for a photo. I likewise had pretty tame Spring Breaks, where practically no drunk girls tongue-kissed each other because the little light on the camera was red.
I don't know why I'm miffed that Tiger Woods never once tried to get me into bed. But it hurts, I have to tell you. I long for the sex scandal where there are some real surprises....where the mistresses are not from Vegas, where none of them are "would-be models," or "porn stars." What happened to the average forty-somethings, with unruly hair and body-image issues? You think they don't want famous people to sneak around on their wives with them?
I can't help thinking about Elin Nordegren Woods. She's gorgeous. I mean, really. I never thought I'd have anything in common with someone like her, but here we are in the same stupid boat: not slutty enough for Tiger Woods.
The girl-next-door,
Jenny
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