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Hooray for Boobies & Other Fat Lady Tales

✏ 38 year old cis female ✏ Fat ✏ Married ✏ Crazy Cat Lady ✏ Opinionated ✏ Swear-ey ✏ All caps silliness ✏ occasional pretendy writer ✏ LJ immigrant ✏ Journaling since 2006 ✏ Ex chatroom /forum role player ✏ Now on Tumblr ✏

Feb. 2nd, 2007

What is it?

Feb. 2nd, 2007 08:29 am
elf_fu: (Stupid bird.)
It's an old sock on the floor you got from the dollar store. They looked like a decent pair of old fashioned whites; they looked sturdy, too.

Except they weren't, they've been laying in the sun for months and the sun does something odd with cheap fabrics woven to look like better, more expensive, more sterner stuff.

They sun rot. You bend down to pick them up one day to put them on in a hurry. Need a pair, aren't looking, late for whatever, see the elastic band of it poking out from somewhere and grab it.

They unravel in your hands, neither too fast, nor too slow. Just at the perfect speed to make you feel helpless. Helpless, of course, because you're sitting there watching white threads scatter knowing you can't do a fucking thing when you could have. Yeah, you could have put them away, if only you'd remembered, blahblah, boo-fucking-hoo.

So, maybe you feel a little helpless as well as a little amazed at how something so simple turns into something so complicated right under your nose, maybe a little upset. Here, you were going to put on some socks and run out the door, now you have shit-for-socks, you're running late, and you've got nothing more than a pile of white thread in your hands.

That's all well and dandy if you wear socks.

Me? I prefer to go barefoot.

But it still feels like unraveling.

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