How do we stop this, Christine?

Is it the fact we live inside our own fantasies, and then you or some other woman is just a fantasy, which is the same as an inanimate thing, an object?

And of course, who wants to see the object of desire in sweat pants. Or in her misery. Or to tolerate her (yep, beautiful word, tolerate) when she is down in all her sexiness and she feels ugly and not desired and her man tells her go and check into a bar and you’ll see that someone will want to go and take you home or to his car?

So yes. We have this fantasy. Not from a third grade girl we liked back then but from some stupid commercial that told us go and own something beautiful.

And desire begins. And of course it is never our (my) fault. And one day the whole Medium demographic of men between 35 and 75 who never had that girl from the commercial magazine is reading your piece telling themselves who knows what.

How, Christine then?

What is the answer?

To say we are own by stupidity and desire?