Mrs. Khaki Pants | Too Hot For Mere Denim
/When I think about female sexuality, I see peppers. Some of us are bell peppers, others cubanelle. You might be a robustinni variety, while I am a habanero. We are cousins in one big, sexy pepper family.
Dave Ward’s Photo Stream on Flickr:
Scanning the literature, it seems that every bell pepper aspires to become a habanero like me. Articles with titles like “Top 10 Ways To Find Your Inner Lolita” promise women help in shedding a mild, cherrytime persona, to emerge a deeply-sensual serrano spice.
We women remain a recipe in process.
Modern females seek the gold standard: smarter kids, cleaner houses and a better than average raise. Our inner Marilyn duels forever with inner Martha, and dust balls typically take home the trophy.
We may be liberated but we have less sex than women of the Fifties. Ours is not a healthy picture, even if our floors are spotless.
Adapted from *sugar*CélineM* at Flickr
Finding Marilyn becomes another scheduled item on our ToDo list, as if a positive sensuality can coexist in the line of duty. Unleashing Ms. M requires quite the opposite of sheer will and compliance. We must relax, reacquainting ourselves with imagination and sensual fantasy, two short-supply items in most women’s lives.
In 2004 I wrote an unpublished manuscript on the health benefits of sex, a project not grounded in selling bras, lotions or potions, but in promoting happiness and longevity with a proactive sensuality.
The narrative mixes solid science, my own experiences with roadblocks that typically sap sexual desire, and an amusing cast of characters who accompany us on our drive through the French Riviera, into the land of “la dolce vita”.
I remember refusing to write Chapter 3, because the science was too depressing. As the narrator, I wanted to be loved, and not lose my audience with scary statistics and literary finger wagging.
Thinking about sexuality here at Anne of Carversville, it seems we need a Marilyn substitute, one appropriate to our brand.
Mrs. Khaki Pants To Our Rescue
Lying in bed the other night, a vivid vision took shape in my imagination. I found myself saying her name over and over again. A fully-formed American woman walked into my mind, a chic but casual woman wearing pants … khaki pants.
“Mrs. Khaki Pants,” I said out loud in the dark, wearing an invisible smile. I liked the name.
Looks are deceiving.
When I first met Mrs. Khaki Pants, I thought she was a dash of classy paprika.
For sure, she’s no Sarah Paulin, with great legs and pointy-toed stilletos. This suburban, female goddess of family stability and economic mobility does not wear skirts, but she does share the Republican Wonder Woman’s gifts for charming the proverbial Levi’s off total strangers.
The more I’ve quietly observed KP, I now categorize her an anahaeim pepper morphing towards jalapeno. By Christmas Mrs. Khaki Pants could be certified cayenne.
Via Flickr’s Mareen Fischinger
We are her audience, eager to hear her story. Our is not a ToDo project but a voyeuristic chuckle as we look under the covers of love and lust, Khaki Pants style.
Perhaps you’ll see a bit of yourself in Mrs. Khaki Pants. If not, I hope you share our collective smile. I truly believe that Mrs. Khaki Pants isn’t dead inside us. She may be dormant at times, but I believe she’s waiting for liberation. She’s tired of criticism and how to improve herself.
We women wants to celebrate the fantabulous women we already is, instead of fixing ourselves. No more “10 ways To Be the Perfect Woman - If Only We Could Just Get It Right”.
This is our new mission at Anne of Carversville … unleashing a global tribe of Mrs. Khaki Pants, all around the world, women who want to be our best while embracing the woman in the mirror.
Creative options and education are one thing. Fixing is another. Creating problems for the sake of selling product is bad news. Our earlobes are just fine, thank you.
Tomorrow, we have a bit of sexy science and then the story unravels, one juicy detail at a time. Be there, or be square. Anne