I should add a disclaimer here that I don't care what people do. I think people should be able to live their lives how they wish, without fear of persecution, and I try not to judge people based on how they look. Not saying there aren't a lot of times that I see someone, and in my head go, 'hhhhhhwwwhhhhaaaaaat??'; all I'm saying is that I won't treat someone differently because of that. Even if I am thinking, but. What? Why? So this is what happened...
(I can't give credit for the picture; I don't know where it's from... but it's lovely).I met a friend tonight for coffee, which was a good time. It was a very nice day, we sat outside, and the coffee was good, and the brownie was delicious, and just before we left, a very tall, very thin lady walked by, and I just saw her back on, but I asked Ro, "Was that a man?"
"No. I think she was a hooker, though."
So while I'm marveling at how skinny this person was, another lady walks by. Considerably more shapely. Considerably larger. Especially in the shoulders. Black wrap dress; blond bob, and I'm thinking, okay, if this is a woman, she must be the one Ross was dating on friends (Don't call her broadback!). Then I saw the shoes: clunky and black, and didn't go with that dress at all. Not to mention, they were quite large. Thankfully, Ro knocked over her tea, so I went inside to get napkins, and these two ladies were standing in line chatting with one another, adam's apples just a-bobbin'. We turned to leave, and there were 3 more of them just on their way in (I don't mean to make them sound like the living dead, I really don't, I'm just not sure how else to describe this); I was getting to my car just as another lady got out of hers.
Now. Like I said, I don't care what people do. Whether they were cross-dressers, or transgendered, or maybe just liked a breeze on their doin's, I genuinely, couldn't care less.
But I don't understand. I have a job where I wear work boots and coveralls; I dress pretty casually regardless of where I'm going. While I love skirts in the summer, I've never found it comfortable to pile on the jewelery/makeup/undergarments. I do it when it's 'necessary' but if it wasn't what society deems appropriate for certain situations, I wouldn't. The main reason: pantyhose. These were designed by either a sadist, or the devil himself. I can be ready to go, and by the time I've wrestled myself into those, I'm sweating, I'm angry, my hair's a mess, and I've put my thumbs through the thighs. The idea of anyone enjoying this completely escapes me.
And also: where do they buy those shoes?
I love Halifax.
Was that his name? Blond Bob?
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