Unexpectedly, a lover once turned to me and said, “You, my dear, are a Stradivarius.”
It made me feel beautiful and sexy for the first time in decades. Even more than that…it made me feel WORTHY. The toll of a sexless marriage to a reticent and antagonizing man had crushed my self-confidence over the course of two decades.
But the day I was compared to a Stradivarius, that self-deprecating curse was finally broken. And I realized that an inept fiddler cannot strip an instrument of its extraordinary value or coveted sound.
So I am making a conscious effort to embrace my best compliment. It’s the me I want to be. The me so few have heard. The real me. The Stradivarian Me. Full of sarcasm. Full of wit. Full of shit. But still me in all my rare, stripped-down, melodious glory.