I woke up with one of those headaches that feel like someone’s driving a stake through my brain. You’d think they would have been wise and aimed it a bit lower — if it had gotten my heart, we’d all be put out of my misery. 😉
I sit by my floor-to-ceiling window every morning, doing a little bit of work that would take a lot less time were I actually not still half-asleep. And I usually watch people on the street below.
One of my neighbors reminds me of me — built like me (poor thing), dresses like me (trendy jeans and shirts — I look like a freaking Old Navy ad on weekends). And I always notice that she looks, I don’t know, thinner on the weekends. Like we all stuff our pudgy pork roast asses into dress clothes and pantyhose all week. You can just tell how uncomfortable we are. I know I personally radiate tension when I’m in shoes that would best be used as a murder weapon instead of a self-torture device.
Don’t get me wrong — I love to play dress-up as much as (or even more than) the next girl. I like heels because I look better in them. I like skirts because at the right length, they too can add height. But I, and I suspect it’s true of my neighbor, look much better when there’s cleavage of any kind (boob or toe, not butt of course!) showing. It helps when there’s a little bit of skin to break up a sea of georgette and gabardine.
I’m not suggesting walking around in pasties (oh God no) but just a little freedom to let the skin breathe wouldn’t hurt matters. I feel so puritanical lately, that if I see a glimpse of someone’s skin like at their neck I think “Scandal!” GAWD. I really need to get out more. 😉
While I’m complaining, I hate closed-toe shoes in general — dark shoes make me look shorter than I am (5’3″ and 3/4, babyee) and if they’re flat and closed-toe, I look like a pint-sized pudge muffin. Even though I wear a lot of black, it’s rare to see me in black shoes unless they’re strappy and wildly inappropriate. The pain of walking in them is worth it if you’re going to look good doing it!