BulgingButtons

Not bad for a fat girl


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Goodbye Zebra Mules

I should have said goodbye years ago, but I just wasn’t ready. In fact I sort of forgot about them. Oh sure, I saw them in my closet everyday, but they were just sort of there. I wasn’t wearing them. They were too snazzy, the heels too high.zebra-ron-magnes

I remember when I got them. I fell in love instantly. They were the most ridiculously impractical shoes you could imagine. Faux zebra skin mules with silvery faux snakeskin trim. They sound hideous. They were fabulous.

I remember when I first laid eyes on them. I didn’t need zebra print mules, I mean, who really does? But I had to have them. They were too wonderful to pass up, and they were reasonably priced. Sold!

I wore them from time to time, and every time I got compliments on them. Of course, as sort of a novelty item, they didn’t come out of my closet often.

At some point they just kind of gave out. They gave me several years of service, but the weight I expected them to bear was too much. One of them split from the sole along the side. I told myself a shoemaker could fix it, but I never got around to taking them in. I put them aside, but held on to them. Someday, I would have them fixed. Someday.

Tonight I tried on my new dress. Wow. It looked fantastic and I felt like a million bucks, but I needed shoes. There they were! The old zebra mules called to me. They would be the perfect compliment to the dress. I slipped them on and they looked fantastic, except they felt weird. Oh yeah, the side was split. Damn.

Time to face facts. I will never take those shoes to be repaired. Their time has passed. They served their purpose. Tonight I said goodbye to them. They were fabulous shoes and I loved them, but now I have room in the closet for a new pair. Hopefully I can find a pair just as fantastic.


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Stuck on Hope

My boy ten years ago.

My boy ten years ago.

I have this writing assignment that I have to do. It’s way overdue. In fact the course ended. Still, I want to do the assignment. My teacher is a friend and amazing writer herself. She has been overly patient with me. Maybe I need a swift kick in the rear to get it done. I WANT to get it done. I just can’t seem to do it.

I think I’m stuck on the prompt. The focus of the class is using the experience of parenthood as a framework for writing. The particular prompt I’m stuck on is “hope.” It seems too big. It seems too vague. How on earth do I even poke a stick at this one?

I imagine that the idea is to form some sort of concrete response to the prompt as it applies to my son. I tried this approach, but it seemed stilted and dishonest. Yes, I have lots of hopes for him, but they all came out as a kind of bland pablum. I couldn’t bring any passion to the piece. It worried me.

Am I a bad mother? Do I truly believe the things I  wrote? Why wasn’t there any fire to the piece? It could have been written by any parent for any child. It didn’t seem connected to me or my son at all. In fact, it seemed as impersonal as a piece of trendy wall art picked up from the local craft store. You know the ones with the pithy sayings? Of course you do. You may even have them in your home. If you do, I’m sorry for not agreeing with your design aesthetic. Live, Laugh, Love. Yeah, right. If only it were that easy. Some days it just isn’t.

What it boils down to is this, I hope he knows, really knows deep in his core, that I love him and that I’ve always done the best I could for him. I hope he understands that although I mess up in a hundred different ways every single day, I believe that the choices I make are ones that will ultimately help him to be a successful person. I hope he figures out all the stupid stuff that life throws at him, and I hope he manages, somehow, to get his grades up so he has as many options for his future as possible. I hope he understands that he has options. Maybe that’s not personal enough, but it feels pretty personal to me.

I hope that boy grows to be a man that the boy can admire. I hope he remembers his worth and his sense of kindness and his playfulness. I hope he navigates acne and braces and learning to drive and making smart choices without too many permanent scars. I hope his life is rich and fulfilling. I hope he loves and is loved deeply. I know, it’s starting to sound sappy again. I can’t help it. I love that boy. I hope, no matter what comes his way, he always remembers that.


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Do You Wear Spanx?

091510_spanx_smlI guess I really was in a good mood on Saturday while I was shopping with my mother. I must have been, because this particular question didn’t elicit the response in me that it might have at any other time.

Let me set the stage. I was in a lovely fitting room in a lovely department store. I was wearing a dress with a fantastic cut made from a gorgeous fabric. It was a dress designed to show off curves, and it did.

The problem is that I have curves in the wrong places. They talk about “apple” and “pear” shaped figures, but I’m more of a honeydew. I carry a lot of weight around my waist, and I’m about as big front to back as I am side to side.

So there I was in this really pretty dress, deciding how I felt about it, when mom comes up with, “do you wear Spanx?”

I laughed and told her that Spanx wasn’t going to make any difference for me. She went on to tell me how wonderful they were. Like I said, I must have been in a good mood, because not a word of sarcasm crossed my lips.

I could have told her that wearing Spanx for me, if they even came in my size (which I sincerely doubt), would be like placing a band-aid over stab wound. It would be like bailing out a  ship with a teaspoon. It would be like building the great pyramids with lego bricks. It would be like harnessing up mice to pull a chariot. It would be like writing a novel using rubber stamps for each letter. It would be like digging a canal with a toothpick. Need I go on?

As always, I’m sure she meant well, but Spanx? Really? Oh well, I guess hope springs eternal.