Ten Parts
I have ten parts to my heart
Ten parts that you take
Ten parts that you watch for
Ten parts where I ache
The runner is heavy, her breath out of wind
You take her up gently, and lift her to end
The mistress is surly, and tangled a lot
You take her in softly, untie all the knots
The witness is worried, her song out of reach
You take her beside you, the music you teach
The loner is hope-drained, her view rather bleak
You take her hand kindly, and starlight you seek
The lover is awe-struck, her emptiness grows
You take her eyes to you, and mend all her woes
The child is spinning, her thoughts moving swift
You take her mind off things, and offer a lift
The seeker is weary, so much truth to be found
You take her ear tender, and whisper no sound
The actor is drowning, she’s pretending to be
You take her dreams with you, and set them all free
The poet is hiding, her heart severed in two
You take in her pieces, and make her anew
The angel is crying, her fears come again
You take her pain to you, and call her dear friend
I was feeling very confident, as I was having a good hair day, and my husband had saturated me with compliments, at least twenty since I awoke.
And after a hot sauna meditation and hot soak in dead sea salts, I was literally glowing.
With my cheeks rosy and love of self content, I set out to do errands. Time to redeem a gift certificate, a rebate check, and buy some food staples.
At my third stop, at the grocery store, as I was pushing my half-full cart down the snack aisle, I felt an itchy sensation at the nape of my neck. I reached down, and found the sweater tag. My cheeks blossomed into a full crimson then.
And all at once a rush of fear came over me, as I realized my sweater was on backwards!
I, quickly, without calling too much attention to myself, turned my cart around and made my way to the back of the store. Retreating into the bathroom, I had a good look at my sweater in the mirror. I gasped, while trying to laugh. But no laughter came.
The way the sweater was set, the back stitching in the front of me, I looked like I had two torpedoes jetting out.
Before, while dressing at home, I’d merely thought the way the sweater set against my chest was just the way the sweater was made, and that I ought not to have fretted about the design. I needed to get over my fears, and wear clothes without insecurity. Who cares if the cut of the sweater accented what was naturally a part of me? I had thought to myself.
But now that I could tell for certain the sweater was on backwards, I thought for sure, people would have noticed, and been laughing, not only at my backwardsness, but at my pointy boobs.
Inside the store bathroom, still contemplating my silliness, I twisted the sweater around; only to find, that my under blouse, a little sleeveless black thing, was on inside out!
At this point I looked down at my boots, convinced I’d probably placed them on the wrong feet.
I know it doesn’t matter in the end. People at the crowded Big-Box Store probably didn’t notice, and if they did they got a good laugh. And I’m all right with giving others a good laugh. But I can’t help but think about those two older men who stopped me in my tracks in the grocery store, prior to my discovery; how they played dodge with my shopping cart, like we were two familiars partaking in a friendly game: “Try to get passed me with your cart!” Can’t help but think how ridiculous I must have looked with my front side all pointy and pronounced and all, as they tried to engage me in conversation and keep me from moving: me and my signature red chest.
It’s just plain crazy-making, the way I cannot dress my own body. Likely an after shock of having never liked or played with Barbie Dolls. I should have taken note, or at least practiced.
I still haven’t learned to stop praying for humility and release of pride. Seems I cannot go anywhere without being reminded of my unyielding humanness.
Here’s to red torpedo ladies, and all things fashionable.
May you, if and when you wear your clothes backwards, accentuate the positive.
It’s on backwards in this photo…heheheh Before I knew
But You…
You are a flower that I cannot release
You stretch and root, your scent carried into the vein of me
I am your vase, your soil, your moisture, your sky
But you do not know me
I hold you day upon day, carry you where I go, smile at your beauty
I watch in admiration, as you unfold, as bud becomes bloom
You move where I move, bend where I bend, all the time unaware
Because you do not see me
Your vessel completes me, the fullness of you saturates
Your sweetness carries my every step closer to the heart of you
I reach to touch frail softness, nature’s perfection
But you cannot feel me
I turn to you in the darkness, cradling you at my side
I blanket you in the coldness, devouring the fire for your warmth
I comfort you in the rain, soothe to extinguish my own wants
But you cannot detect me
You scream in silence, and I am beckoned
I scream aloud, and you are lost
Together we collide, without ever joining
But you do not understand
I am your gardener, your life-giver, your equal, your maiden
So, when the sale’s lady told me: “You can’t wear panties with this dress because of panty lines,” (photo above), I ought to have recognized I NEVER would be able to go to my husband’s work party without wearing underwear.
Still, I bought the gorgeous dress that fit me like a glove and also showed off all my lady parts, hoping I’d get gutsy. (I was going to write ‘grow a pair’ or ‘grow balls,’ but that just seemed plain ridiculous to write, when talking about a panty-free dress.)
My husband was with me when I tried the dress on at the boutique. He loved the dress. When I asked him about the shopping experience later, he chuckled and said, “Do you really think I could comprehend anything AT ALL after I found out you would have to wear no underwear!”
So, as you can see, he was little to no help.
When I talked to my friend in England (after I bought the dress), she said: “I don’t think that’s such a good idea wearing no knickers to your husband’s work party.”
You think?
When I thought about creating an underwear-free zone under my dress, I was taken back in time to the months I had to share a small bed with my wrinkly snoring grandmother. She never wore underwear to bed.
Regardless of my panty-issues, with high hopes, I brought the body-hugging dress home.
The night before last, I spent an hour searching in the intimate undergarment department for stockings. I figured stockings would at least give me a layer. I found some nylons that made me gasp out loud. I really said: “EWWWW!” I didn’t know they made stockings that went all the way to the bottom of the bra line as to not show stocking lines. The photo of the woman was outrageously odd, like some bi-ped mermaid in a stretchy black see-through suit.
First no panty lines? Now no stocking lines? I was beginning to wonder whom I was hiding all these lines from and for what purpose.
As I looked around the department store, I found all types of signs that tried to remind me of my inadequacy.
I couldn’t believe all the weird contraptions: body suits that sucked in my fat, bras that pushed up my stuff, and other thing-a-ma-jigs I wasn’t sure what I’d do with, other than take photos to send to my friend, so we could bust up laughing together.
My favorite was the attire that read: “Gets rid of muffin top.” I didn’t even know clothes manufactures used that term. Oh, and one item promised: “Gives you instant confidence.” I thought, wow, I didn’t have to write this blog, I could have just spent $19.95, slipped on this nude-colored leotard thingy, and presto had instant esteem.
After all the “line” hiding I was supposed to do, I was surprised I was “allowed” to wear a bra. Until I saw these things called breast petals—tiny flower shaped Bandaids made to stick to boobs, or at least the tips of boobs. I just about lost my composure then. Why would I want Bandaids for my boobs? And, man, the peel-off factor, when all was said and done….Ouch!
I ended up buying three pairs of different style stockings to try on with the deemed “panty-free” dress.
At home I tried to wear stockings with the pretty dress. I tried really hard. And then I cried inside, as I couldn’t pull it off.
I felt as if I lost a part of me then: The panty-free, pin-up girl who never was. Sigh….
Luckily, I had the black little nun-like dress I first fell in love with a week prior to finding the pin-up dress! And as soon as I put the black dress on, I twirled inside with glee. For this dress I could wear panties with!
~~~~~~~~
The Party
When we pulled out of the drive, to head out-of-town for the party, I screeched: “Stop the car! I forgot my blankie! I can’t sleep without my blankie!”
My fifteen year old was kind enough to say: “What are you like five years old, Mom?”
I jumped out of the van, did a twirl, and shouted back sweetly, “No. I’m twelve!!!”
When we first arrived at the party, only the owner of the company, my husband and I were touring a section of the building (museum) together, as the rest of the party, some hundred people, had moved on into the other rooms. The whole time (some fifteen minutes with the owner) I kept thinking to myself: I’m so glad I wore underwear!
Thank goodness, I didn’t say my thoughts aloud to the company owner.
Imagine the scene: “My smile? Well, to tell you the truth, I’m just so happy to have panties!”
As it was, I kept saying to my husband all night: “I’m soooo glad I didn’t wear that other dress!”
He just nodded. But I could see in his eyes what he was really thinking: “You have Aspergers. You are processing. Thus the repetition of the same statement. However, I kind of wish you didn’t have panties on.”
As I was leaving the party for the night, a party that turned out to be very pleasant, a kind lady complimented my outfit, and said, “And look at those cute red shoes, like Dorothy’s shoes from the Wizard of Oz. Who wears red shoes anymore? So cute.”
I giggled, and replied, “You know these shoes are a funny story. You see, I bought them to go with this clingy pin-up-girl dress, but I was too embarrassed to wear it and had to return the dress, but I kept the shoes.”
She smiled.
I was careful not to bring up the panty thing.
I felt so very twelve, so very pleased, and so very happy for my panties.
Okay. New followers will likely think I’m a bit odd, but that’s okay. They haven’t read A Body of True Confessions, My Aching Loins, or Prude to Sexy, Yet. So they are likely thinking all types of thoughts. Truth is, I’ve really broken out of my shell.
Photos removed since original post. See links above for more information.
I don’t even recognize me! I’m wearing my after glow from having kayaked yesterday for the first time, my Maui tan from May, and the confidence I had when I was a kid. Yay, me!
Prude to Sexy Check Off List:
Check…..Guitar purchased
Check…..First Kayak experience (1.5 hours)
Check….Kayak paddle purchased
Check….Closer and closer to buying a bikini
Oh, and I got a really cute pedicure today. See? This was not an easy shot to take. Trust me!
Now, I hope you do all know that I have Aspergers. With Aspergers sometimes comes this naive spirit (in a wonderful way) and sometimes (in my case: often times) a tendency to not understand sexual connotations. Well, luckily I ran this post by someone (my husband). He kindly pointed out that having the topic, learning to self-massage, as one of my It List’s items might be a little risqué. I didn’t understand why learning to massage my hands and feet with lotion would be inappropriate.
When I was still a youngster, in my early twenties, my mother took me to see her psychic. I was told that I would first have two children, much like twins, and everyone would think they were twins at first—this happened. I was told that I would live to be 86 and that at the half-point (age 43) my life would shift and be happier—happening (at least the age 43 happy part). I was also told that I was a French nun in my past life and brought a lot of that mindset to this lifetime, and carried around a bunch of Catholic guilt and felt I was always sinning with my very thoughts! SO NOT HAPPENING anymore….
I’ve been a prude for the first half of my life. For the second half, I’m going to be sexy. Of course last year at this time, I was going to be a Buddhist monk, and was seriously considering growing my hair out all grey, never ever wearing makeup again, and going braless. So, really, we don’t know what to expect from me. As you can tell by looking over my last two posts, where I went from exceedingly on top of all the universes, to basically, and literally, cry me a river.
But, despite my track record, I’d thought I’d give this sexy thing a shot, and at least make a list, since I love lists anyhow. And thusly, I’ve included my ten goals for the next eight months, that leads us into February 2013, and day 366 (leap year, remember).
Prude to SEXY!
My IT List for Sexy
The High SEXY boots
1. High Boots. A must. With a short skirt and leggings, and a powerful cat walk.
A small sexy ankle tattoo. Perhaps a tiny sun or a tiger symbol.
2. Must have a small, sexy ankle tattoo. A permanent stamp that says the prude is gone and to banish the nun in me.
3. Study sexy action. Study sexy poses, sexy movies, and sexy singing.
kimdehaan.wordpress.com
4. Classic Guitar and Lessons. Preferably taught by a dark, gorgeous hunk of burning love.
5. Bikini on the beach. Yes, bikini.
Maui 2012
6. Lots and lots of submerging in water. River walking. Hit the beach. Swim in the pool. Soak in hot tub. Go to hot springs. Bubble baths.
kayakingtours.com
7. Kayaking tour and buying a kayak and wetsuit.
wikipedia.org
8. Belly dancing in this dress. Ooh la la!
Where I walk in Washington State
9. Nature
Trees and more trees. And hugging trees. Hiking. State parks. Forests. Resting on the grass by the lake. Sitting on the bench and watching the birds. Breathing in the air. Breathing.
kundalinishaktidance.com/
10. Kundalini Yoga
Got to keep the second chakra fed, or I’ll never pose for that photo of me at the water’s edge, posing sexy in a bikini, donning a belly pierce and one high boot, with the other foot bare, as to show of my ankle tattoo, all while strumming a guitar in a kayak and mouthing “I love you.”
