Blogness Monster

We all keep getting older and we may not be able to feel it and we don’t get any emails, or calls that tell us we’ve grown older. We just get these quick little nudges in our hearts when we see an old friend, read an old message, when we hear an old song. It’s when we remember what we have forgotten that we realize that we’ve grown enough to let something or someone go. It’s weird to have had something so important to you come back as a sheer memory. Something so vague was important to you as life itself. When you suddenly remember what you have chosen to forget, that’s when you realize how much you’ve grown and how much you’ve learned about letting go and mending a broken heart.

I awoke that day with the strong need of wearing a dress. I had remembered to pack at least one dress when I came here, and it had been sitting underneath all my clothes in my suitcase. Today I grabbed the black/white polka dotted dress and threw it on before I could regret it. Now I was at the coffee shop, reading Steig Larsson’s, “The Girl who played with Fire” while shifting uncomfortably, regrettably wearing the stupid dress. I kept looking up from my book at some old lady who wouldn’t leave my usual seat. She was reading the paper and kept texting on her phone. I grumbled and went back to my book. I had thought that the old lady would’ve left a lot sooner, but turns out that she had to read about ten different newspapers, had to drink approximately three lattes, and talk on her cell. The only reason she had sit there it seemed was to charge her phone. She had pulled false alarms by going to order something or going to the restroom, but after two long fucking hours, she stood up and left. I cursed under my breath thinking that this was a ridiculous waste of time. I uncomfortably grabbed my stuff and sat on my usual spot. I was already pissed off at myself for wearing this damn dress that kept showing off too much cleavage. (That really did explain all the damn staring when I arrived at the coffee shop) I kept pulling my dress up and gave up thinking that I should just say, “you’re welcome” to any obvious observer instead. To make matters worse, my favorite barista was not working this day, only the barista who had given me the famous “Wonder Woman” nickname. He was there the day before, but it didn’t seem like he recognized me at all. I mean, granted the day I had worn that wonder woman t-shirt, I looked pretty scary. I mean scary as in, ‘did someone run you over?’ I looked terrible that day. I remember I was testing out my sisters curling iron and managed to give my self an 18th century look. Looking at my horrible creation, I had used a straightener to get rid of the curls. Unfortunately my hair ended up being half curled, and half stiff straight. Not giving two shits at the time, I threw on some clothes and left to the coffee shop. Now I had stood there looking like some frilly thing, looking nice and neat with too much cleavage forcing it’s way out of the dress from hell. Having boobs is nice I suppose. You get some women who would envy you a bit, and sometimes boobs make your shirts look good on you. The cons about having big breasts though was that they weren’t great to have when you run for a living, and sometimes they make shirts hard to fit into even if they are in your size, and, personally, I hate men who stare at them believing that I have no face or personality to go with it. Just boobs. I rummaged through my bag and luckily found a safety pin to which I quickly used by grabbing the deep v-neck line fabric and forcing it through the pin. I safely locked it and my cleavage was now hidden. I thanked the gods for having unknowingly left a pin in my bag. I then considered to give the dress an OK for an art gallery I was heading to that night. I had convinced my sister to take me for an art opening from a gallery i was familiar with, but never been to. I also had to lie about what it was. I actually had no idea what was showcasing. All I thought I had read was something about a sketchbook project that they were going to show. I doubt it’ll be a bust, but I know that if my sister doesn’t enjoy it, she’ll have a crazy fit about my having dragged her there in the first place. My sister judged too critically and quickly without ever having tried the experience. After going back and fourth she agreed, and I sighed with relief. It’s already late and I haven’t eaten breakfast. I think me and my polka dot dress are gonna grab some subway.