Yeah, yeah, I know, we all know my position on classic rock. But since a co-worker directly mentioned "Lord of the Thighs" today and I have it stuck in my brain (and it is my favorite of all possible Aerosmith songs), I give you:
Down the who knows who, just to socialize
I'm waitin for my girls when you caught my eyes
You got a way to make a man, honey,
You got to understand
I'm your man, child,
Lord of the thighs
Well, well, Lord, oh my God,
What do we got here
She's passin cross the floor
Make it perfectly clear
You're the bait and you're the hook
Someone bound to take a look
I'm your man, child,
Lord of the thighs
Did you know that in the interest of accuracy I went to like ten different online lyric sites to see if I actually knew the lyrics? Did you know that I then said "fuck it" and wrote that second stanza the way I've been singing it for the last thirty years anyway? Well, yeah. I refuse to admit I'm wrong unless Steven Tyler tells me so himself.
So. One of the reasons I loved that song twenty-something years ago, is that it expressed something very directly to me about the power of my sexuality. A young woman's power in knowing that I could draw the look, that I could inspire lust if I so chose, just "passin cross the floor". Not a particularly impressive power, true, but useful at times. Not to mention ridiculously satisfying.
Now those days are gone, of course, and I wonder what power has replaced it. I'm smarter now and less crazy, but neither of those things translate as power. Maybe it's where the crone archetype came from. Maybe we old women have encouraged it down through the ages, letting people (i.e. men) think we've replaced the magical powers of our thighs with real magical powers.
Maybe there was a ridiculous satisfaction in that. Even if it came with a 50-50 chance of being burnt at the stake.
Or maybe I'm just making crap up.
xoxo
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