In response to this.
I can’t really say I was ever around friends and had a husband remark upon his wife’s body to me, but if I were ever around a couple and the husband smacked his wife’s booty and told her she looked hot in her yoga pants, as our toddlers played nearby, as I examined the stain on the knee of my own leggings and wondered if it was snot or what, exactly, I would think, “Good for them. They’re adorable.” And maybe also a little bit of, “Gag, get a room, you two.”
Because let’s be real, I’m probably wearing leggings or yoga pants on any given day. Because the truth is, my post baby belly is…soft…if we’re putting it nicely (and I’m trying so hard to put it nicely because I really do believe that how I talk to myself and about myself matters, so I’m trying to speak about my body as I would any dear friend’s), and “real pants” just hurt me. The button tends to poke into the spot where my abs are still literally ripped apart ever since my body grew twins, and things just don’t feel good when I’m not wearing some sort of elastic waistband. I mean, I do it, but it’s rare. I dress appropriately for church, for dates, and yes, for sitting on the floor at music and movement class when surrounded by toddlers, all of us in nice stretchy waistbands.
So, usually, I’m out and about in leggings or yoga pants, because, as Anne Lamott says, “The world is too hard as it is, without letting your pants have an opinion on how you are doing. I struggle with enough esteem issues without letting my jeans get in on the act, volunteering random thoughts about my butt.” I’d probably add that the world is hard enough without letting my perceptions of every man in the world’s reaction to my pants into my decisions about said pants, also.
I mean, if you manage to lust after me with my post baby belly in my snot-smeared stretch pants while I wrangle two toddlers, GOD BLESS YOU.
God bless you too, if your warped religion has convinced you that “noticing that some other woman does in fact possess a butt” is “lust” on par with the “gouge out your eye” variety. Noticing someone has a nice butt in her stretch pants? Not lust. Lust is reducing someone to an object and treating them that way, which, it turns out, is what you’re doing when you expect everyone else in the world to dress according to your anti-lust preferences.
Although, judging by the photo that went along with the article, I think I have discovered the key to preventing lust:
Honey, those are jeggings. What’s the difference between leggings/yoga pants and jeggings? Pockets. Pockets are the key to lust prevention. You heard it here, first, folks.
Now excuse me, I’m off to inform my husband that he can no longer run around in his soccer or basketball shorts. Those don’t have pockets, and we all now know what that means: lust city.
Which, come to think of it, makes a lot of sense, because we all know cargo shorts might as well be birth control.