Suburban Goddess

As my husband is down in the heart of my old city, enjoying the revelry that is so close to my heart while I sit here and play separated suburban housewife (yes, I’m bitter), I started thinking about where I was seven years ago, before I pledged my life to this person.

Seven years ago to the day, I was standing on Bourbon Street. I had access to every VIP lounge on the street, because I was voted as half the duo known as the Sexiest Couple in The City.

It’s actually pretty easy to get voted for that in New Orleans; just wear as little as possible and project a really big attitude. I wore a leather and chrome corset, leather hotpants, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high lace up platform boots. In had my boy-toy in tow; a kickboxer with sprayed silver hair, silver pants, and a black latex top that showed off his perfect physique. Coming in at 6′3″ in my boots, I stood out, and I loved it. Tourists everywhere stopped us to have their picture taken with us; I can only imagine that when they returned to their normal lives and pulled out those pictures to show their friends, they must have prefaced it with something along the lines of, “and THESE two FREAKS…”

It is actually such a fond memory that tonight, while my daughter splashed in the tub, I pulled down the old corset from the top of my closet. A thick layer of dust lay on it; I blew it off and promptly sneezed (”Bless you, Mommy!”). I couldn’t help it; I just needed to try it on. So I did. As I tried to pull the zipper across my torso, the layer of fat that didn’t used to be there made it difficult, but I refused to loosen to corset. About three minutes of tugging later, I finally made it over the pudge. Not satisfied yet, I pulled out my “Fergie Fall,” three feet of clip-on hair that instantly glamifies even the dowdiest housewife. And since I made it THAT far, I had to try on the hotpants, just for old times sake. But there is NO way to look good in those unless you have a set of twelve inch heels jacking your rear end to kingdom come, so I laced up the old boots, promptly remembering why I shelved them. And I stood in front of the mirror, a glimpse of that twenty-something glint in my eye with the wisdom of a thirty-something woman.

Momma’s still got it.

I unzipped the corset and felt all my internal organs shift back to their natural position, and let my feet free from the leather prison that had them so cruelly tortured. And as I listened to Alex babble happily in the tub, splashing and sloshing water out onto the floor, I was struck with the realization that the legion of adoring fans is nothing compared to her.

And suddenly, I wasn’t so jealous anymore.

Besides, I’ve still got the corset if I need it.

This entry was posted on February 19, 2007 at 6:11 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.