Late Bloomer blossoms with 'unique' style!

Top o' the morning to ya lads and lasses. (Don't ask me why am am talking like this, I'm not even Irish.)
Where do I start... Thursday. If it weren't for running partners, both Susan and I would have slept in. But we trudged on and met at the Y. I didn't think we should time ourselves and after much coaxing - not!- she agreed. We started off on our warm-up walk to the entrance, made a right on the trail and just continued walking. The motivation to run just was not there. But the conversation was flowing, arms pumping. When we got to the half way point I turned around and Susan, still talking, turned to look at me in question. "We're here. Time to go back." Ya'll, if you could have seen the sheer delight in Susan's eyes when she registered our location, you would have been tickled. I think we talked as fast as we walked. But do I feel guilty? Absolutely not. Sometimes a walk is better than a run. Otherwise, you forget to enjoy what you're doing and becomes work. Maybe by Tuesday we'll have it back in our systems.

Friday. As I had told Susan on our walk, I have come to the conclusion that I am too old to dress like a teenage tomboy. I am thirty, after all. On past trips to the mall, I surveyed the display windows of various stores, trying to figure which is more 'my style'. I didn't find any that I thought reflected 'my unique style'. After much analyzation and observation, I came to the conclusion that I may have very well adapted the 'digruntled and uncompromising lesbian' look without trying. For those wondering, I am straight, but this could very well explain the unseasonal drought in the region of 'amore'. Time to channel some feminine qualities from somewhere. So I went where any gay, butchy-looking woman may go to figure out how to look feminine. I went to Barnes and Noble. Found books on how to where makeup; What not to wear, and how to deal with this curly hair. (The hair may have to be cut because it is too long to wear down and not get tangled) The makeup - one step at a time shall we. I don't want to send my body into shock. So I started with clothes. Couldn't find jeans at WalMart that were comfortable and flattering. A younger co-worker of mine had those hip-hugging jeans, so I enlisted her help. (Gulp) We went to a store in the mall - Can't remember the name, but I wouldn't have entered on my own. After trying on about ten pairs that didn't fit - I am all thighs- I found one pair. From the knees up it clung to me like a monkey to a tree, but flared out below the knee. I can sit without my crack showing but I am going to wait until I lose another five pounds. And for the money I paid , I am wearing those in the coffin. But you should have seen the excitement of the other women in my shop. "Oh! You're going shopping! What are you getting? It's about time! I noticed your jeans were too baggy, but I didn't want to say anything." Man! Did I look that bad? I'll have to wear them out one day to see the reaction I get. My luck, a handsome man will pull up along side me, roll down his window and ever-so smoothly say, "Are those bugle boy jeans you're wearing?" To which I would have to reply," I can't talk right now. The limited supply of oxygen I have must support my legs since these things are so damn tight!" Maybe disgruntled lesbians are a result of such ordeals. They were once very happy-go-lucky people, I'm sure.

I know I should be happy with myself, regardless of outside influences. My mother always had her hair combed and her makeup done by the time I rose for school. Granted, I was an only child, so she had time, but I don't ever remember her not making herself presentable for any occassion. And she would instruct me not to wear horizontal stripes and leave my shirt untucked. She died shortly after I turned thirteen; she was 32. I often wondered how things would have been, or what kind of woman I would have turned out to be with more of her influences. I've heard people get a little ancy when they approach the age at which their parent had died. Maybe,subconsiously, my anxiety is leading me to wear high heels. I guess better late than never. She always did say I was a little of a late bloomer...but my derrier and thighs were right on time.

Monday the library is closed, so I'll give you the lesson for the week now:

Tis the season to start bloomin'! I don't think any of us are too old to blossom into something exquisite. If you can see yourself as whatever it is you dream, start today. Just like this marathon, it will require patience and determination. Just don't bloomin' quit!