My new writing mentor told me that I have to write everyday about what I wore and why. My wardrobe has never been very important to me. The first 6 and 1/2 years of my adulthood was spent wearing uniforms. I can’t tell you how much I liked not having to think about what to wear. Colors are not my friend. I’ve walked out of the house wearing some pretty interesting combinations. TJ’s usually there to shake her head and point me back in the direction of the closet or dresser but, sometimes, I manage to escape the house wearing stripes and polka dots of various hues.
I’ll have to find something else to mention on a daily basis besides my clothing selection, at least during the work week. My work clothes consist of three pair of dark colored pants and several button down shirts of muted, solid colors. It’s important to me to wear clothes at work that don’t attract any attention. I don’t like to be looked at or judged on such things. I may be able to go into more detail about my choices for casual Fridays and the weekends. I’ll tell you right now that I’m a jeans and t-shirt sort of woman. And sweatshirts, of course.
Well, I hadn’t expected to get into the clothing topic that much. I had planned on writing about a good friend of mine, I’ll call her Ms. Antivenom. See, Ms. A. came out to her mom a few days ago and now her family is laying a bunch of guilt on her. One of her sisters told her something about how Ms. Antivenom can’t expect her family to be happy for her. Now, maybe it’s because I’ve been out for so long or because my family has all come around and is accepting and happy for me but I can’t help thinking “why not?” Why shouldn’t they be happy for her? She’s in a stable, loving relationship with a smart, funny, caring, and, might I add, hot woman who has her own business. They want to get married, have kids, and spend the rest of their lives together. What mother wouldn’t be happy for her daughter?
Maybe they’d be happier if she married a man, had some kids, was miserable, made her kids miserable, lived a lie until she couldn’t take it anymore, drank a lot, did lots of drugs and, maybe, blew her head off. This may seem extreme but it’s happened that way plenty.
Stay strong, Ms. A., I’m proud of you for living your life honestly. Maintaining our integrity is sometimes very difficult and it’s usually much easier to let people think what they want to. Easy is rarely right. You will be much better off in the long run. But if you change your mind, maybe you can still use the “I fell on some sperm” excuse to explain the baby.