(Rated Rg2: For the Goddess)
A woman cannot have it all.
There simply aren’t enough resources–emotional, monetary, erotic, or otherwise–for a woman to have it all.
Likely a woman it was who said such a thing to another woman. What’d you expect? If it was her man who even insinuated such a verbal faux pas, that there are limits to what a woman can have, take my word: She’s dealing with the wrong man.
With a flawed plan.
Apparently he hasn’t heard of Pamper-Her-Friday.
Let me make it clear: Greed, avarice, hegemony, egocentrism–none of these character flaws has ever adorned the truly beautiful woman. None of them wears particularly well on the goddess. Feel?
Having it all is a very subjective thing, a highly intrinsic set of wants and needs, no?
First off, are you in complete comprehension of what your having it all means? Is it still formulating? Does it meta-change with the blowing of the wind? Does it pivot on sight of the latest trend? Is it redefined at each new advertisement?
Last off, how do you know when you have it, that precise moment when your “have it all” has been attained?
Have you ever “had it all” and simply didn’t realize it?
Well, let me ease up on the emotional depth. It’s Friday and I didn’t intend to get philosophical on you, at this beautiful hour, the gateway to a lovely summer weekend.
But let me end my missive with a nugget–nonfiction: A young woman from the most privileged class of her Eastern European society messaged me recently, unsolicited, regarding a Pamper-Her-Friday post she came across on the web. She mentioned she was so intrigued by each story and letter in the series that she’s now reserving an hour every evening, a glass of wine in tow, to read and ponder each creative.
I asked her, “Which number is your favorite?” She replied: “That question is highly unfair.” I liked the woman’s spirit. She went on to summarize her privileged existence–jeweled decadence, yacht parties, at-a-whim travel et al. She ran the accoutrements off without pause.
And then I asked what of it all was most precious to her. She wrote simply, “When he breathes on me.” Both of our device keypads grew silent in the correspondence after that last reply.
She thanked me for my creative endeavors. I thanked her more. She mentioned she anticipates the book and signed off: “Write . . . and breathe on her.”
It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love. After we do dinner and the show, we’ll scenic-drive to the pier. I wanna take you in my arms within view of the lighthouse in the distance.
And breathe on you.
Pamper the woman . . . . -Rg2
© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®