I am not ashamed

My mom recently told me she wanted to see the new “Dumb and Dumber” sequel, but she didn’t want to go to a theater to do so. She said she would be embarrassed to be a middle-aged woman out in public watching such a stupid movie. Well you know what? I want to see the “Dumb and Dumber” sequel, too. And I’m not ashamed of it. The first one was one of my all-time favorite comedies. I haven’t seen it in years, but I laughed a LOT every time I saw it. If I can find someone similarly unashamed to come with me, I’m going to proudly march into a theater to see the sequel.

This got me thinking about what guilty pleasures people are secreting away, and what things we’re ashamed of that we totally don’t need to be. So to help others be loud and proud, I’m going to come out with what I’m not ashamed of. (Obviously, I’m not ashamed to end a sentence in a preposition. It’s OK if it makes it less awkward.)

I like every Taylor Swift song I’ve ever heard. Not enough to purchase any of her music, but whenever a song of hers comes on the radio, I’m happy about it. Even if it’s been way over-played, I just like her songs. And I’m 32 years old. I also think she’s handling being a major celebrity pretty well. 

I loved “Beavis and Butthead.” This was a staple of my middle and high school years (almost as important as “Dawson’s Creek”). And I’m totally going to throw her under the bus again here, but my mom liked it, too. We both thought it was hilarious, and it gave me insight into the sometimes alien-seeming adolescent boys who surrounded me at school. I still remember the episode in which Beavis and Butthead cut off their pubes and glued them to their faces because they were having trouble growing real facial hair. 

I haven’t vacuumed in three weeks. Do you know how hard it is to vacuum when you work full time and have a toddler? When I’m home from work, I want to spend time with my son, not cleaning. I get a lot done after he goes to sleep, but vacuuming is loud, and it wakes him up. So you can’t do it while he’s sleeping. So that leaves me with what kind of time to vacuum? I don’t care. We’re on the floor with constantly with the kiddo, and it looks fine to me.

I think poop/fart humor is amazing. Given my affinity for “Dumb and Dumber” and “Beavis and Butthead,” you could probably have figured that one out. We’re not going to be friends if you can’t laugh about turds. 

I just ate barbecue sauce that expired six years ago. Trying to convince my toddler son to eat popcorn chicken, we got the barbecue sauce out of the fridge to dip it in, and we all partook. (He loved it, by the way, and when it was offered to him again the following week, he refused to even put it in his mouth and threw it on the floor. Ah, toddlers.) As my husband was putting the sauce back in the fridge, he saw it expired in 2008. It tasted fine and no one got sick. We’re going to finish off the bottle.

I’m way into books. I would rather be at home reading than out somewhere partying and drinking, hands down. And even in my early 20s when I occasionally went out dancing and to bars, most of the time I was just thinking, “I just want to go home and read a book with my cat.”

I still wear some pairs of maternity underwear. Toward the end of a pregnancy, nothing fits, including underwear. I found these awesome panties at Motherhood that are cut low on the abdomen and just fit perfectly. But a year and a half after the baby came out of my body and I lost all the weight and then some, they still fit great. One pair has a print of ice cream cones and pickles. Clever, eh? My husband even said the low cut was “sexy.” So hell yeah, I’m still wearing them.

I don’t like the Lord of the Rings or Star Wars. Hate on me if you will, nerds, but I don’t care. I watched the first in each series and didn’t feel compelled to see any more. 

I adored spray cheese from a can, and I still want it. As a teenager, I ate loads of Easy Cheese. In case you don’t know, that’s processed cheesy goo in a compressed can that you spray out like whipped cream. I haven’t eaten it since high school because I tried to stop eating things I was pretty sure were bad for me, but every time I pass it in the grocery store, my heart burns with yearning.

Speaking of nasty food, I love McDonald’s chicken nuggets. I allow myself to eat McDonald’s exactly once each year. It’s usually in November, so the big day could be very soon. And what do I get at this exciting annual junk foodtopia? Chicken McNuggets. Yes, I know they’re made of mechanically separated pink chicken goo that is stamped into disturbingly uniform shapes before being breaded with God knows what and fried. I know. But I want them anyway. Much like the spray cheese, I want them far more than I ever allow myself to have them. Because I want to go on living for a while, too. 

Stretch marks. OK, that’s kind of a lie. I am ashamed of my stretch marks. I know, I know, they’re “tiger stripes.” My badge of womanhood and proof I created a life. But I cover them up. My swimsuit is a two piece, and I make absolutely sure the bottom is high-waisted enough to keep them covered, and I’m constantly checking to make sure they’re not visible. I’m really trying not to be ashamed about this. But it’s really hard when so many of my friends snapped back into place without a mark. 

Buying feminine hygiene products. In the early years of my menses, I would sneak up to a female cashier, pull out the package of pads or tampons I’d been hiding like a shoplifter, and try to conceal it among other purchases. I would buy extra stuff just so the cashier would have to scan four or five things and wouldn’t pay as much attention to the “embarrassing” product. Not now, my friends. Unashamedly, I will buy a single box of tampons - a big one, too - and hand it right to the teenage male cashier. Read it and weep, son.