My first post as an official MILF

I'm typing this with one hand, as my other hand is occupied, supporting my half-sleeping daughter in a cross-cradle hold while she lazily nurses. I'm wearing some sort of weird spit-up-stained men's bathrobe I picked up at the DAV that sort of reminds me of Brad Pitt's workout attire in Fight Club, my hair is bleached out with auburn roots and a rat's nest, and the last time I had a shower (2 days ago), I skipped the soap because I was holding my baby while I bathed and she was slippery enough as it was without suds.

Now you know why, even though my daughter is 3 weeks old today, this is the first time since she was born that I've gotten around to writing an actual post.

Last night, I was once again referred to as a MILF by a high-school boy (not that I'm that much older; I graduated last spring). It blows my mind. I am not what I consider sexy. As has been alluded to, I am a huge Lolita fan. Lolita is exactly my unconventional conception of sexy.

I say unconventional because, despite current trends towards the unhealthily thin, what men consider to be sexy is basically influenced by evolution. In the desire to produce healthy offspring, men are attracted to signs of health (slightly plump, clean teeth, shiny hair, clear skin, odor-free) and signs of fertility (large tits, wide hips). Even the cliche blonde-haired bombshell is perpetuated by evolution: Because blond hair is a recessive trait, blond haired men who procreate with a blonde woman and have a brunette child can be assured that the child is not theirs, while the paternity of a blond child is assured.

Feminine once meant plump and voluptuous. Think heart-shaped lips and Sir Mix-A-Lot's 'Baby Got Back.' But modeling trends bend towards boyish and sickly. Think Twiggy, Kate Moss, and Penelope Tree.

The flapper girls of the thirties were probably the first sign of the changing times. Jordan Baker of The Great Gatsby was attractive to men with her cropped hair, cadet-like stance, and 'faint mustache of sweat on her upper lip'-- all decidedly male characteristics.

And in the fifties we got Lolita. This is my idea of sexy. Poreless skin, boyish figure, mousy hair, holes in her jeans, smelly tennis shoes, peachy orange skin, candy-stained tongue, crooked white teeth. What a contradiction. Her skin and daintiness suggests she is healthy, a prototype of what is to be desired. Her habits are unclean and disgusting. "Does not chew nails, although it would be in character if she did." She is rude and thrives on shock value. But oh, so dainty.

Humbert Humbert, the narrator of her tale, once so attracted to her, finds her ruined when he encounters her later, pregnant, 'ripe with another man's child'. Evolutionarily, a perfectly acceptable reason for not finding a girl sexy-- having sex with her wouldn't produce any healthy offspring for him. Her arms are thin, ropey, milky-pale; her veins in her hands pop visibly. Shew now wears glasses. Like fruit, she is now overripe; spoiled. No longer appealing. Again, a contradiction. She looks older, and in comparison to her 12-year-old, sexy self, now actually old enough to be appealing. She has better hygiene, and by evolutionary standards, her ripeness should be attractive. Instead, she is spoiled; at 17 she is past her prime and ruined.

Like Humbert, I see the ruined self in the ripeness. I recall the immaculate, dirty, stone-cold Lolita. The high-school boy's comments cannot be believed. My title of MILF is a parody.