My Closeted Self
I’m Midwestern enough to trade out summer vs winter season clothing in my closet. A custom accustomed to.
I’m also wealthy enough to afford new clothes at my whim. I have two closets – what about you?
Not that I overdo it, mind you. I just returned from Nordstrom with only the exchanged pair of shoes, the purpose of my store trek.
Oh, and a lipstick and blush. A little retail therapy was needed, fresh peach on my lips and cheeks to help me feel peachy again. To cheeky resume. Little personal exterior changes to buttress huge personal change within. Growth process validated by Master Card. Priceless.
I’ve been feeling blue of late, not perky, Sunday best, but beat-down-to-limp. Sunday past was among the worst. Been hassled for being too happy, too cheeky, too content, too knowledgable, too bright, too perky, too privileged, too much in love with life. Holy crap!
Think I’m going to keep my bright feelings in my closet; never going to respond to a question of whether I dye my hair, why I wasn’t in class, why I didn’t appease the other person’s distaste.
People puzzle me with their presumptive, cruddy questions and remarks. Their salacious, malfeasant choice of words as assault. I’m tired of standing tall out in the world. A pre-eminent target for whack.
I’m retreating to my closeted self. Gonna sit in front of the keyboard and/or across the dinner table from my cute, adorable and adoring husband.
Pretend, defend, fend.
Opt out, sit still. Write right.
Feel safe. My burka by choice.