Fuck Me

I was hanging out with my best friend when she threw some clothes she didn't want at me and had me try them on. One item was a dress. It wasn't a lame or super fancy dress. It's black with little pin dots on it. I was hesitant, but since she knows me so well, I let her make me try it on.

It fit me well: it flattered my waist and boobs, and I looked cute and curvy.

But I still kinda freaked out. She had to pull the calming, maternal voice out on me. She was soothing, but she also told me to stop whining. It was pretty amusing. I don't let very many friends boss me around like that...

Me: My boobs are huge!
Her: Don't even TRY to complain about that.
Me: But...
Her: Stop that.

Boo hoo, I'm proportional. Life is just SO hard. God, I can be annoying. I if was her, I'd probably want to smack myself.

I like wearing skirts and ethnic dresses, but "white people dresses" are something else; I feel uncomfortable and incongrouous. I don't entirely know why. It feels like foreign territory that I don't belong in. And even if I look good, it feels like I'm trying to be someone else.

Then she said, "Wearing a dress doesn't have to say anything about who you are." I'm still pondering this statement. Perhaps I'm also guilty of binary compartmentalizing.

Am I thinking too much? Am I allowing my perception of myself to limit how I express myself? Or should I stick to what feels comfortable and forget others' opinions?

Self-acceptance. Like communism, it's lovely on paper. And the notion of implementing it sincerely is becoming obsolete.

Oh, she told me I could have the dress if I want. I took it.