Some women make it look easy; they make it look effortless, this fashion thing. I've spent most of my life being haplessly unaware just how little of it comes to me at all.
Not that I care. Not most days.
But I recently found a darling pencil skirt at Goodwill, fulfilling my Great Skirt Fantasies. What is my GSF? Well, after wearing skirts all summer long, I would come across a batch of fall and winter skirts, skirts that beg to be worn with tights & boots. Skirts that play well with scarves and gloves. Skirts that would carry until spring. Skirts that may or may not like walking dogs, going to pumpkin patches and/or caramel apples. And skirts easy on the eyes and wallet.
One would think that if I could find my Soul Mate Skirt, I would be set.
One would hope that the neuropathy in my feet could just give me a break until I see my new acupuncturist in November, the earliest appointment I could get.
One could hope that I could come up with a cute outfit for this weekend's Wordstock festival in Portland.
This one girl was wrong. All my shoes hurt. Every non-geriatric, orthopedic-and-otherwise-shoe at every store I went to today - and I strongly dislike shopping - made me wince. Add a little neurotic episode of trying on most everything in my closet and I had ruined a perfectly good afternoon.
So I am pouting, and angry at myself, for being angry at my body.
'It's doing the best it can.'
I tell this to myself while I lament the time lost. I'm saying it while I bake cookies for the kids my body lovingly carried for me. While I make dinner in my new kitchen, the biggest kitchen I've ever had. (Pictures coming this week.)
They carry me.
I have no idea what I'll pack for my trip, but my feet will carry me and my silly insecurities.
"I've got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget.
I've got a perfect body, because my eyelashes catch my sweat."