New(ish) mum Samantha Dooey-Miles is charting her life in doodles. This week, she would like you to understand that she is in no way a pervert. Honest.
On a Wednesday, I take a few minutes out of my busy day to locate and send the most ovary-exploding image I can of either a young Harrison Ford or Brandon Flowers, lead singer of the Killers.
This week my sister claimed I have a problem. What she calls a problem, I call a public service. Aren’t I making her Hump Day a little brighter? I was left having to confront a question I think we all have to address about ourselves at some point: am I a pervert?
It will not surprise you that my answer to this is no, I am definitely not a pervert. Which is definitely something a pervert would say. Let me explain and you’ll see how I’m absolutely telling the truth.
A pervert is someone with a perversion so, according to the dictionary, “any abnormal means of obtaining sexual satisfaction”. It’s here that I know I can’t be a pervert, because in all of the pictures I send my sister the handsome men all kind of look like my husband.
In fact, I am no longer able to find men remotely attractive if they don’t remind me of him. This sounds like a terrible cover up, but I have spoken to friends in long-term relationships and they agree. If I think it and a few people I know think it, it must be totally normal. Right?
There’s a bit of my husband in the nose of Harrison Ford. There’s a twinkle in the eye of Brandon Flowers similar to that in my darling husband’s as he tries to charm his way out of some boring chore he forgot to do.
Aside from my Hump Day celebrations (I really think we should all work hard to make this a thing), I barely think about other men in the way I used to when I was single. Because thinking about other men leads to a ton of grim thoughts.
Horrendous moral issues. Top this with the fact I am nowhere near a proficient enough liar for such a relationship nor do I have the space in my schedule to keep two men on the go.
We would to have to divide our assets and sort out access to our daughter and I’d have to move house. I hate moving. Even the thought of packing up my belongings and arguing about who owns the sofa makes me feel like I need a lie down.
So the man I love dies. I am then in grim mourning before a handsome man crosses my path again and we can start some sort of romance. Ugh. This is, clearly, the worst one of all. No thank you.
In conclusion I think we can all agree I am definitely not a pervert. What I have done though is create a nice little ritual for my least favourite day of the week. I suggest you find similar ways to make you happy. Perversion not required.
See Samantha’s previous doodles here.4073 Views
Sam is a first-time mum doodling and blogging her way through teething, nappies and the constant struggle of never quite being sure whether she lives in Essex or London. Find her blog at anewessexgirl.com.