I also do not believe that an occasional glance at the opposite sex is wrong. I tell my husband this all the time. He is free to glance at Halle, JLo, or Brooklyn Decker. Who wouldn't? Besides...
1. If Mormons can glance, I figure, so can I (and I happen to know for a fact that Mormons glance. I won't say how I know, or mention any particular Mormon by name... *cough, lookingforgeorge, cough*).
2. Philippians 4:8 says, "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."
I have thought about some abs that are truly lovely, admirable, excellent and praiseworthy, so that's 5 out of 8. And I always give God all the glory and thanks for the beauty of His creation. So... there you go.
I have a very strict policy: I only look if they are 21 and older. It's my personal code of honor.
Okay, that's a lie. But, if they're under 21, I just take a brief glance at the abs and move on. Really. Okay, brief-ish. But I don't give the face time to become engraved in my mind. That's what separates the Normals, like me, from the Pervs. Just a peek at the abs. And pecs, maybe. Okay, probably pecs, too.
Oh, that reminds me of a
It gets put under my bed, usually unopened, until I can clear a good exercise space.
I've never cleared a good exercise space.
Sooo... a box of DVDs, with those big rubber band thingies, etc., was recently pulled out from under my bed by a curious 2 yr old, and a poster from inside the box was opened up and left lying on my floor (the poster, which I'm assuming was included for motivational purposes, has a ripped, tan man on one side and a woman who must have sold her soul to the devil- because her body is just too dang good- on the other). The poster was lying with the man side facing up.
Evan and I walk into the room. Evan sees the naked, tan torso of a man. The first thing he thinks of to say is, "Oh, Mom (all disappointed-sounding, like I'm 5 years old and just peed on my Easter dress)... Tell me you didn't. Please tell me that is not a Taylor Lautner poster."
How do you spell that little breathless noise you make when you're really exasperated? Because that's the noise I want to spell right here ___________________.
What is with you people? Does everyone think I'm a perv? Gee whiz. You mention one kid's abs and one rockstar and the whole world goes nuts.
I'm offended. Deeply hurt.
Okay, not really. I couldn't care less. I ocassionally take notice of man-boys. Deal. I'm a fat, Chaz Bono-looking, dangly, old, wrinkly house frau, with no evidence of my once-hot former self. It's not like the man-boys are looking back.
Onto other topics, shall we? Before I either get depressed about my pathetic, desperate, wrinkled, be-Chazzed state, or get another email from Mom (kidding, Mom. Love getting emails from you).
How about a little Sammy Story to finish this post?
Sam loves Reese's. LOVES them.