Curvaceous

Curvaceous: (adj) description of a woman having a well-shaped figure with voluptuous curves.

There are two immutable facts that cannot be denied but certainly would open up debate among those concerned.

  1. Girls who are curvaceous and buxom in high school normally become heavy-set and what we might call “chubby” as they get older.
  2. Boys who seemed to be in great shape in high school, playing football, become portly, often sprouting a beer gut after their escapades on the gridiron.

When high school reunions come around, men who used to be svelte or women with curves which produced great desire arrive at such celebrations looking, shall we say, very “domesticated.”

On the other hand, those students who were ignored, thin or obese, have often gone out and changed their appearance and persona completely.

I am fully aware that a woman’s breasts are a delight to view, interesting to touch for about a minute-and-a-half but are not what you would call “the main course” of a sexual smorgasbord.

A bosom of that sort is a banquet for a baby.

But because we are foolish, we insist that women who have huge breasts are very sexy—until we realize that these curvaceous wonders are really just fat cells.

And consider this: if it’s easy to build up the fat cells in the chest, it is equally as easy to build them up in the waist, the thighs and the cheeks. Both sets. So be careful.

Our society, which is obsessed with curvaceous women, must evolve into a more mature understanding:

Breasts can be problematic for everything—from dressing to disease.

And once we gain a more sophisticated approach, maybe we can just learn that ninety percent of our sexuality is in our brain.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cry

Cry: (v) to weep or shed tears

Sometimes we grumble that nothing is getting better.

It may seem that the surrounding world is out of control and we are stuck moving at about 30 miles per hour.

So it is refreshing to allow oneself to consider the things that have improved and progressed us, instead of maintaining a cave-man attitude, wearing better clothes.

One of those things is crying.

We used to believe that crying was for women and small children. Men either didn’t cry or cried so quietly that you could not tell they were actually weeping.

It was considered a sign of weakness.

Then something changed.

Maybe it was the realization that three or four dozen football players working their asses off to win a game, only to lose it by one point in the last three seconds, did evoke tears—and there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Yes, we did become a better race when we realized that men cry as much as women. They have just learned how to mask it and not completely break down sobbing.

I cry.

I like to cry.

I’m trying to learn to cry without needing the stimulus of feeling sorry for myself. There’s a certain nobility to mourning for the needs and losses of others. I mean, I know what to say when I’m around a fellow human being who’s hurt.

But I’m not satisfied with how little I feel.

For instance, I am still very much relieved that it’s not me who’s going through the trouble. I want to express my sentiments of support and hope but not turn it into an all-day affair.

Mainly, I would like to do more to remove tragedy, sadness and despair from the world around me, so I don’t have to try to work it up inside myself or fail to do so and feel like a jerk.

I cry.

Unfortunately, most of the time I cry for myself.

But every once in a while, the Spirit that lives within me breaks through, wins the day and allows me to feel what it’s like to be another—and be tragically damaged.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.

I never thought of it before, but until we allow ourselves to cry, we’re not putting the troubles out of our lives.

We’re just putting them out of our minds.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C


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Attached

Attach: (v) to join or to attribute much value to.dictionary with letter A

I had just finished up sharing at a book convention.

I was sitting quietly by myself, listening. I like to do that.

After speaking for a brief season, I feel it is my responsibility to shut up and let information come my way instead of streaming out of me.

Not far from me, two men were having a conversation. Actually, one man was talking and the other man found himself inundated with lots of opinions. The talker was expressing concern about the deterioration of the U. S. government and the dangers of the coming “New World Order.”

He was reciting his data.

Do you know what I mean? In other words, it was a meticulous collection of syllables, forming words and phrases he had overheard and was now passing along as if they were part of Holy Writ.

The other man, in the receiver position, was trying very hard to be polite around this yapping friend. I thought it was a very interesting profile for this evangelistic doomsayer to take after he had just left an atmosphere filled with creative ideas, new books and exciting storylines.

I knew better than to offer an opinion.

This man was attached.

Just like the beautiful girls in high school who were already dating the football players, I was fully aware that this man was unavailable. He had married himself to an emotional and psychological encounter with another. Perhaps the relationship he was in was abusive or limited, but I wasn’t going to be able to seduce him away from this lover. He was attached.

I merely sat quietly and thought to myself, “Please be intelligent. Stay unattached so you’re accessible and not committed to too many causes that are destined to go the way of the 8-track tape.”

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