Right? Well, for most, at any rate. Fridays are different for me. See, I’m making a concerted effort to write full time which means I’m not a slave to the day of the week. I’m just a slave to my muse ;)
So, for me, Fridays mark something else entirely….it means I normally don’t get to see my girlfriend again until Monday(as we are moving slow and careful with regards to her children). However, we have plans tomorrow night ;)
Anywho. I’m going to share a post I read yesterday that really opened my eyes. I’ve always struggled with a feeling of being “dumpy” no matter how I dressed. I have had curves since I was 11(yes, 11 and boy am I tired of wearing a bra! ;)). I have berated myself for decades for being ‘busty’, thick thighed, and all in all overweight. I’d look at ads and movies and the plethora of cultural images and icons and just think that I was destined to struggle to find *anything* to wear that I felt attractive in.
I mean, look at all the imagery. It’s everywhere and so prevalent that you don’t even realize you’re exposed to it until you’re at the store trying to figure out why that dress that looked so good in the catalog just doesn’t *work* for you. Well, guess what. It’s not meant to.
Instead of recapping the excellent post I’ll just send you to it. Check it out and let yourself off the hook if you’re one of those individuals that never can find something that fits right.
Now, for me, this whole revelation shouldn’t *really* have been a revelation at all! My mom’s a seamstress, one of my dearest friends is as well. I’m no stranger to homemade clothes. Where in our history did having homemade clothes become something to scoff at? It’s reminds me of the looks I’d get with my brown bag lunch at school. My mom packed that lunch with love and care and a desire to see me well fed. But because I wasn’t going through that stainless steel kitchen letting the ladies slop food(quite scary stuff, in retrospect) onto my plate I was looked down on.
I must be poor, right? (I was.)
My family must be on public assistance, right? (at times we were)
Oh, she’s from a broken home, isn’t she? (yep, damn straight, and my mom ROCKED the single mom thing and my sister and I thank her often.)
Then! Then add the clothes.
“Oh, I love the color of that blouse! Where did you get it!”
“My mom made it for me.” *puffed up chest, proud of the shirt and the loved stitched into it*
“Ah. She did a good job.” *cue the either little sad look or the curl of a sneer tickling at the edge of a lip and watch my shoulders fall*
I have a sewing machine. I know how to sew, but how to tailor something to my body? Not exactly. I might just have to start researching that. My mom bought herself a dress form for her birthday and was so happy about it. There’s a part of me that right now understands exactly why. What kind of pride must she feel to know that she can not only make something for herself but also make it flatter her?
Right. Sorry. Rant over. ;)
I did make it outside for a walk yesterday. A friend and I took the Taterboy down to a local park and threw his ball around for him for a bit. It was sunny and just warm enough that half way through the walk I took my sweatshirt off and enjoyed my short sleeve shirt.
I also wrote about 1200 words on my Were novella yesterday and finally got to the sex! Yahooo!! We’re rolling now, baby ;)