Bombshell: (n) a very attractive woman.
Even though we spend a lot of money and too many hours trying to become more attractive, we also expend equivalent energy insisting that we are loved for something other than our outward appearance.
I guess there’s a great advantage to being ugly–because you know if you attract anyone in your direction, it’s legitimate.
From time to time I think about the life of Marilyn Monroe.
Whatever she truly wanted to achieve, she failed to accomplish, causing her to misuse drugs and end up the victim of an overdose.
What did she want?
She wasn’t totally innocent–in the sense that she certainly did use her sexuality to gain prominence. But once that was acquired, she was stuck with the perception that she was nothing more than a blithe, flighty, unaware female with a good body, tempting every man to prove that he could be her supreme lover.
The smirks, the snickers and the lascivious smiles that trailed her probably exhausted her already-burdened spirit, and made her wish for anonymity.
Or maybe she was just a spoiled brat, who wouldn’t have been happy with anything.
I don’t know.
Does anybody know?
But since human sexuality encompasses such a small amount of space in our lives, to give much effort to blow it out of proportion is tiresomely vain.
Yes, I imagine the true problem of being a bombshell is that you just never know when it’s going to blow up in your face.
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