Everything is gross. Let’s all think a happy thought.
Hello. Let’s take a moment and reset together. Breathe together. Set aside the yuck-ness of the world and journey together to a place of joy and peace. I will be your guide. This might only be for a moment…but here’s hoping this moment will sustain you during all of the gross days ahead.
Breathe in…and three, two, one.
Imagine a house. A cozy shabby chic cottage with five bedrooms and six baths. Expensive and ideally placed clutter adorns your living room. It never collects dust. This is your house. The floor is never sticky. There is no faint smell of pee, human or otherwise.
Laundry is not drying on the dining room chairs. A dinner party can happen at any moment. You excel at spontaneous dinner parties. Pictures of your place settings blow up Instagram. You deserve it.
Now think of your pet. Remember the day you brought him home? Your life was complete. Now he’s an asshole who ruins the furniture. He wakes up the baby and humps all the blankets. He is the reason you will get a divorce.
But wait. There is a knock at the door. A lovely widow who’s only chance of happiness is to adopt your cat/dog/guinea pig/rabbit waits on your porch. Fate has brought you two together. It doesn’t matter how she found you or that this is totally weird…she is taking your asshole pet.
She longs to give him the loving home he deserves. She will take him for walks and clean his litter box. She will buy him organic carrots and brush him regularly. She will pay for teeth cleanings and let him sleep in her bed.
You will not have to “accidentally” leave the kitchen door open. You will not be driving anyone to the “farm.” There will be no divorce. Your pet is gone. You are a good person.
Feel the air as it moves through your body. Place a hand on your stomach as the bloat diminishes with each long exhale. Your insides are empty. Like just took a poop after holding it all afternoon at your friend’s house because the bathroom was next to the kitchen and it just didn’t feel right — empty. Go bathing suit shopping. You look fantastic.
Picture a locker room. Slightly more approachable versions of Matthew McConaughey and Sawyer from “Lost” towel off. Listen in to their locker room talk:
Sawyer: “Did you read that chick’s thesis? That shit was tight.”
Matthew McConaughey: “I want to get my hands all over that research.”
Sawyer: “You’re the man.”
Matthew McConaughey: “I can’t help myself. I’m drawn like a magnet to experts in their fields. I cite them without even asking. And you know what? They let me. I can credit them and share their thoughtful work as much as I want and totally get away with learning something from their exceptionally talented brains.
You’re still in the locker room. (Which by the way doesn’t smell like balls or BO and there’s not a pube in site.) Watch the men’s lips move as they say the word pussy over and over again.
But this pussy is not something to be grabbed. Nor does it need to be championed. It is not an insult meant to humiliate or infer weakness. It is the place where every life springs from. It is a word to be sung from the mountain tops to celebrate the mysteries of the universe and the majestic power that is womanhood. And fuck you Billy Bush.
Now feel the strength that is deep in your bones. You are stronger than you know. You are Hilary Clinton’s hair. Nothing can shake you. A sociopath with a microphone can try to discredit you by flaunting your scum bag husband’s douchebaggery to the world, but you will not falter. You will make history. People don’t like you. I don’t like you. I’m sorry. Maybe it’s because of the emails or some international blah blah blah. It’s probably because I am just as much a product of the patriarchy as anybody else.
Take one more cleansing breath in.
Know the world will be a better place for our daughters. And remember the world isn’t all bad now. Leggings are a thing again.