Prude? Or Prudent?

I think I might be a... gulp... a... ugh, a prude!

There. I said it. 



Once Upon a Time

Back in the day (I'm a prude, but I might be a little ghetto, too), I dressed a bit like a slut and had a terribly foul mouth. 

My tongue was laced with ugly words, and if you talked trash about my gurlz, well, you wuz gonna get a verbal lash like you never had.

My thighs were laced. Yeaaah, I had a pair of lace-top thigh-highs that I'd wear with a short plaid skirt and white button-up shirt (with the top buttons unbottoned juuuust enough) and sometimes a tie. I was Britney's "Baby One More Time" before Britney was famous. I think I took some cues from Clueless, but at least her clothes were cute. 

I dressed how I wanted, and how I could afford (which meant I mixed and matched and cut and tied and tucked - possibilities to my wardrobe were pretty endless). Sometimes my outfits were funky-chic (pronounced sheek). Sometimes they were funky-floozie. Sometimes, they were just funky. But I was, um, "unique" and wasn't afraid to push the envelope stylistically.  My shirts showed too much, and my shorts covered too little. My dad would say "Hm, guys are really going to appreciate you for your mind in THAT shirt."

I flirted. I didn't care if my boobs were ogled. I didn't care what I said, or who heard it, or how I said it. (Except my mom and dad. I NEVER spoke like that in front of them. It would be highly disrespectful.)

I watched whatever movies I wanted, and if they had sex-scenes or filthy language, I just tuned out the "bad" and focused on the "really good story line." 

My music, oh, don't even go there. And dancing at the club? You better watch out.

I was wreckless and imprudent. "I DO WHAT I WAONT!" 




The Change

And then, at 22, suddenly I was a wife. 

And then, a couple months later, I was a mother.

And something changed. Not overnight. But gradually, something changed. I changed. 

I learned. I grew. 

My trucker tongue disappeared, and my manners calmed. (Mind you, my parents did NOT raise a foul mouth daughter. They never cussed. Ever. They taught me that vulgarity is the offspring of ignorance. That you only cuss if you're not bright enough to come up with something creative. I believe this, now, but then... meh, I just ignored it and talked how friends and movies and music talked. Yeah, original, I know.)

My taste in music changed. I listen now to songs I loved then, and, though they bring a nostalgic smile, I'm all like WHAA?! I have to turn them off. I can't have my kids hear that crap! They're soooo trashy -  sex and grinding and cussing and money - GROSS! (Sorry Mom and Dad. Surprise!) As the mother of a daughter, the possibility of her listing to that type of music makes me nauseous. (Strange, too, because I was raised in a home with really, really good music. My dad had/has an awesome music collection, and I'd hock a lung for his old records. Beatles, Buddy, CSNY, Bee Gees, Ola Tunji, and, man, there were sooo many. We had a musical home. I don't know what happened when I left it!)

My neckline slowly started working it's way up, my hem line worked toward my knees and beyond, and my clothing has grown more flattering and less, um, painted on and trashy? Now understand, I'm a big girl, with lots (of large) curves. And dressing modestly has been the trickiest part. It is really, really hard to find chic and trendy clothing for a girl like me. But I do try. 



A Modest Spirit

As my modesty in behavior and speech and demeanor and clothing began a refining process, my spirit did, too. The changes started in me not because I wanted to be better than anyone, or because I thought that people who cuss were lame, or because I think that women should be locked in a kitchen and never dress sexy, or because I don't want to have any fun. 

I changed naturally, when I came to respect myself, because modesty and self-respect go hand in hand. 

I changed spiritually because I came to realize what my sins are, and made the conscious decision to avoid the near occasion of sin. I've never read 50 Shades of Grey. I've never seen Magic Mike. Movies or music with excessive cussing make me cringe. I sought my spirit, and I found what is important for me to avoid. My spirit was tainted, and sin flowed in when I let my guard down. I searched my life and what it was that made me let my guard down, and I found it. And it kind of sucked. 



Jessica the Prude

Over the last few years, especially, I've become a prude. 

*Language

I don't cuss. And I think that cussing, especially in front of - or at - children demeans them. I'm not saying that an occasional slip-up doesn't happen, or that if a parent accidentally says the "s" word their kid is doomed to juvenile delinquency. But I do know that cussing at or in front of my kids is something I will never do. Simply because I want to challenge them to think, to be creative, to NOT BE THE CROWD. Plus, I screw up enough as a parent as it is, and don't need to add ugly words to that mix. (Aaaand, the face of this little girl at JCPenny back in the day stands out very clearly in my memory. Her mom told her that she'd better "stop that shit, or I'll beat your ass." The girl was probably 7, and she was acting like a 7 year-old. And I remember that precious little face, and the damage those words caused in her eyes and in her spirit - even physically, she slumped over a bit. She looked like she felt unloved and worthless, degraded and embarrassed, and I will NEVER make my child feel that way. I am the adult, and, though I may lose my temper, I will NOT act like a child.)

*Booze

I don't get loaded. I do drink (I LOVE wine. Love it.), but I very rarely get drunk, because losing control of my tongue or my actions is inevitable, and I do NOT like NOT being in control. I want to know what I'm doing, and why, and when I see people around me losing control to alcohol, it makes me very uneasy. Partly because parts of my life were seriously damaged by alcohol, but mostly because I just don't want to act shameful, and I don't want anyone else to regret anything, either. If I let myself get smashed and start cussing, telling my kids to go away, acting flirty with any man other than my husband, oh, the list could go on and on... I regret it. I've done it. And, I learned. I regret it, and I'm ashamed. And I do NOT want to feel ashamed. I'm too proud of how I've grown to let myself be ashamed or regret my actions. 

*Duds

I try to dress appropriately and modestly. I still fail at this sometimes. Mostly because I don't want to dress in a neck-to-ankle burlap sac, and I really like fashion and trends. If I had a million dollars, my closet would be stacked with clothing from ModCloth and Shabby Apple (both modest but adorable clothing sites). I dress like a mom. A cute mom, I hope, but a mom. No, I do not wear "mom jeans" and embroidered sweaters - they're not me. But I do dress like I have children who are watching my every move, and who will mimic what I do. Including what I wear. I dress sexy for my husband. And I've explained to my daughter that the only person she dresses sexy for is her husband, out of respect for herself, and respect for him.  

I also plan on strictly prohibiting hoochie shorts and tiny little dresses from my waaaay-too-beautiful-to-dress-like-that-and-have-horny-teenage-boys-lusting-after-them daughters' closets, and I don't want them to be all "But MOOOOOM! YOOOOU wear them!" I already prohibit bikinis. My eldest is way too cute to have some nasty man at the pool looking at her belly, or to cause boys her age more pain than they are already experiencing while entering puberty. (I don't have the body for one, but I don't think I'd wear one, either. My husband is the least controlling person ever, but out of respect for him, I'm gonna keep all this goodness covered up - available for his eyes only. :) )
 

The Problem with Prude

The problem? I don't necessarily LIKE to do or not do any of these things. I LIKE to wear tiny shorts and a tank top to Wal Mart when it is one thousand degrees on a Texas day. 

Doesn't every woman want men to look at her and feel beautiful or lusted after at one point or another? Who wants to be that Debbie Downer who has to tell people to please stop saying the "f" word in a crowd, most especially where there are elders and children? (Takers, anyone? Yeah, NOT pleasant and VERY embarrassing to be the one to do it!) Rap music is FUN. 

Being the sober one when everyone around me is laughing and totally relaxed and just letting go of any inhibition - that is NOT FUN (though I have to say that I must be a blast, because I can have a very, very good time anywhere, any time, no matter what I'm doing or who I'm with. It's one of the perks of being delusional). I WANT to get drunk. I WANT to feel hot. I WANT to say what I want when I want. And I DO NOT like being THE prude that other people don't want to invite places because they think I'm going to judge them. (This usually doesn't happen. I happen to be a very fun prude, most of the time. Ha!)

I went to Confession once and had to confess that I hate being a prude. Seriously. I had to confess that it makes me envious that everyone else gets to read 50 Shades, and watch Magic Mike, and wear those cute little dresses from Target that look cute on them but would make me look like I have a bazooka in my upper shirt region... and that I want to fit in. What an embarrassing confession! (said the blogger as she posted this for the whole world to see.) I DO NOT WANT TO FIT IN! Do I? 

Geoff Loves a Pru-ude! Geoff Loves a Pru-ude!

I told my husband once that I hate being a prude. 
Me, while feeling sorry for myself: "Geoff? I'm a prude."
Geoff: "Thank you." (then he put his arms around me and hugged me tight.)

I was shocked! Thank you?! He was grateful! 

After reflection I figured it out. He's grateful because he doesn't have to worry. He doesn't have to worry about other men ogling me (though they might, anyway. Men will be men, and breasts will be breasts). He doesn't have to worry about me getting drunk and flirting with his friends or with some stranger at the bar. He doesn't have to worry about my embarrassing him in front of his mother because I can't control my tongue.

And that makes total sense. He loves it that I'm only sexy for him, but that I can still look beautiful and make him proud in public. He loves that I'm his arm candy without being his piece of meat. He's grateful that, even though I'm a loud mouth, I try to reserve myself so I don't make a fool of US.

He is grateful. And that is why I could post this.

Though at times I'm still embarrassed to not get to do the things that others can do, though at times I still struggle with being jealous that EVERYONE IN THE WORLD has read 50 Shades except me... my husband is proud of me, and doesn't have to worry that when I'm laying with him I'm thinking of what he's not doing that Christian Grey does do, or that I'm wondering why he doesn't look like Matthew McConaughey in chaps, sweaty on a stage. 


He made me realize that being prude isn't a bad thing... that maybe, maybe there is something to it?

Prude? Or Prudent?

As I was thinking about this subject, and decided to blog about it, I had Google define "prude" for me. Merriam-Webster said it is "a person who is excessively or priggishly attentive to propriety or decorum; especially : a woman who shows or affects extreme modesty." (Priggish means irritatingly smug or arrogant.)

This struck me. Am I one? I'm not extreme in my modesty. I am modest, but I still let a word slip on occasion, drink a bit too much from time to time, watch occasional movies or tv shows that have risque characters or dialogue, show a bit too much skin from time to time. I'm definitely not PRIGGISH for goodness sake. (What a terribly delightful word it is, though.)

Can a person be "sort of" prude? And why is prude a bad thing? 

So I searched the etymology of prude. "...a discreet, modest woman," from Old French prodefame: "noblewoman, gentlewoman; wife, consort," possibly from Old French prude, prode, preude: "good, virtuous, modest."

I found the words "noblewoman, gentlewoman, WIFE, good, virtuous."

This led me to look up a word that seems directly related to prude.

Prudent: Marked by wisdom and judiciousness. Acting with or showing care and thought for the future.

Sooo, am I prude? Or am I prudent? 

I'm just trying to make good judgements of how I should look and dress and act. I'm trying to be wise, though I'm a far, far cry from it. I show care in what I do. I think about the future - namely, what my daughters will see, and who they will become, if I let my guard down and act without intention. I think about my son, and trying to model the type of woman I want him to marry - one who does not dress for other men, who does not embarrass or demean him or her children with vulgarity.

Perhaps I'm only partly prude after all. But I am trying to be fully prudent. And prudence is good, not something that should make me feel like I have to run to a confessional and cry because I didn't get to see Channing Tatum in some stupid movie with "a really great story line."

And so, today I shake the embarrassment and envy that my misunderstanding of what being a prude means. I am a wife and mother, trying to be good, and virtuous, and noble, and gentle. I will unlikely ever be all those things, but I'm trying!

Please note that I blogged this KNOWING that I'm risking looking like some high and mighty snob, or seeming like I'd think less of anyone who does any of the things I avoid. Plain and simply, I don't. I don't care what you do. Your choices and your sins and your qualities are your business - as long as you're not cussing at or in front of my kids, cause then I'm gonna have to get ghetto. Haha! My choices, and my sins, and my understanding of what I can do and what I have to avoid for my own conscience and motherhood and entrance to Heaven... THAT is what this blog is about. My spirit, my conscience, my choices - brought to me in prayer and soul searching. And I'm proud of myself. Because I fail, often, but I try really, really hard to be good. And, surprisingly, I still have a blast, and haven't missed out on anything! (Except Channing Tatum in chaps, which, I've heard, means I'm probably going to die unhappy ;) Whoop!


Cheerio!
Jessica

Image:https://twitter.com/DowntonAbbey/status/252797970683142144
Definitions: dictionary.com, merriam-webster.com