warning, Momm! Foul language!
There are some days, shimmering heat days, sleepy, headachy, pain-filled days, when I leave the house without the proper foundation garments. I usually wear a thicker t-shirt or a dress of such fabric as to not expose my drooping tee-tahs to the world. Some of my acquaintance have deemed my roundness unattractive, even downright ugly, but on such days I give thanks for the kind of body that allows me to hide my nipples under my meaty upper arms, so I will not appear slatternly to all and sundry of the neighborhood.
Don't give a fuck, in other words.
And so today I sallied forth to make such purchases as were required to enjoy some time away from the bathroom and to meet a dear friend in an air-conditioned venue for a healthy repast. After we ate and witticised, I stopped by my favorite neighborhood giftie store to soak up the creative, wacky energy of the proprietress, a delightful, soulful woman with a love of toys, gew gaws, and those awful quilted floral bags everyone seems to like. We chattered in air conditioned comfort as I gadded about sampling her wares until I came upon a jasmine hand cream sample called "Oolong." Such were my transports of ecstasy that my hostess came to my side to show me other ungents and potions with this delightful scent. I am, even now, pressing my nostrils to the frangrant flesh of my forearm to enjoy the freshly exotic scent.
As she bent to the drawer beneath the display to check on stock, I noticed that she shared with me the same sort of "dishabille", in that she was wearing a white dress that, in a certain light, was quite sheer, and so, I was presented with quite a show when she stood up. Let's just say that meaty forearms were no where in appearance, and that I did struggle not to stare.
Guess she didn't give a fuck today, either.
Her gifts, I must say, far surpassed mine, in firmness and aspect.
My Oolong hand creme is on back-order, as is a new push up brassiere.
And we, the women of the world, owe ourselves at least one trip per lifetime, a Hajj, as it were, to some warm and vibrant place near the bluest ocean, preferably a tropical clime, where we can dispense with foundation garments--indeed with any garments at all--and revel in the beauty and perfection with which we were created in infinite variety, and in infinite grace.
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