Fear of flying – not
It is something I had always wanted to experience.
Other than a bit of stress to the feminine regions due to the construction of the belting…
I loved it.
Fear of adventure – not
I once moved overseas with a single suitcase and a three-month window of time with which to construct a life from nothing… if I could.
I once wandered through Moscow (as a teen), met unusual people in the process, and wound up in the public baths where I practiced my rusty Russian drinking songs – in a steam room filled with boisterous, naked middle-aged women.
Anything for a laugh – almost
I once dyed my hair hot pink using a can of spray, and another time, I striped my dark locks with bright orange, courtesy of a professional. Halloween was approaching.
My little ones adored the look and so did I, until I realized it was permanent dye, and the tiger effect required six months to grow out.
That part? I wasn’t laughing.
Erotic encounters – safely
I once lived out an erotic fantasy quite spontaneously and with a remarkable man, involving un lieu inattendu et la lingerie érotique. Quel délice…
It was a common fantasy, but it was the audacity that was intoxicating, confidence building, and utterly delicious – as was the response that resulted. While I haven’t lived that fantasy since, I never regretted experiencing it. After all, what is life without a little risk and a little daring?
Il faut oser – le rêve, et le fantasme.
I once marched into the Admissions Office of one of the most prestigious universities in the country, insouciante. Having applied to their graduate program (and not a shoe-in, mind you), I announced that I was looking forward to their acceptance, which they should send to my parents’ home as I was moving to Paris to take a job with the UN.
I quit my (then) current (dull) job, flew to Paris, rented a tiny room, and presented myself at a specific UN agency every few days until I finally talked my way in, making good on precisely what I’d told the head of Admissions.
I returned to begin graduate school some months later, convinced my (uncharacteristic) bravado sealed the deal.
I once dared the riskiest of all
Two irrepressible, exhausting, surprising, remarkable boys were born of that union, and the fact that I dared to believe, dared to give, dared to try, dared to love – I view as success.
Why I wouldn’t shave my head
I wouldn’t shave my head on a dare, or if you asked me nicely, or even for a tidy packet of green. (Though name a price in the six figures and I’ll reconsider.)
I wouldn’t shave my head because I catch cold easily, I have no hats to keep me warm, and while I don’t mind my hair pinked, striped, or in a variety of styles, having beautiful hair makes me feel pretty. And I still love that feeling, love being a woman, love owning my femininity, love enjoying my share of unabashed érotisme à deux… with more I hope to come.
Theoretically, I could feel beautiful with a shaved head and I know women who do. However, I have no milliner on staff, nor an acquisition fund to purchase a selection of veiled, plumed, sequined, and otherwise elegant and outrageous hats.
As for other accessories, in particular shoes – except for my very own exquisite pair of Helmut 100mm Christian Louboutins (pointure 36), as you can imagine, I already have an ample supply.