Don’t flinch, dear.
heels
“All the kids have always known
That the emperor wears no clothes
But they bow down to him anyway
‘cause it’s better then being alone.
If I was scared, I would,
and if I was bored, you know I would,
And if I was yours, but I’m not.”
It’s where I belong. I’m home. And I don’t even need to click my heels together.
Take it from me: With those colder months approaching, being bound and naked in front of a fire is a wonderful feeling. Just trust me on this one here. But be prepared to get some chills once you move away from the heat.
(No, literally, have a robe or a sweater on hand.)
Choosing can be hard.
Good thing they’re there to do it for her.
Eaten alive.
I can’t smile in pictures. It’s like an affliction. I think it all boils down to the fact that posing for a photograph feels so unnatural to me. You have to break up the action. You have to stop what you’re doing to prove to some mirrors and film that you’re having a lovely time. I don’t want to put a hold on what I’m doing. I just want life to go on, uncaptured and uninterrupted.
That being said, don’t get me started on my problems with the whole notion of going to a department store to take a family photo on a white background. You’ll have me griping for hours.
Legs Malone, photographed by Don Spiro.
After all those years of tormenting poor Charlie Brown and the rest of the neighborhood kids, Lucy’s finally getting her just deserts.
“Honk honk hum honk honk.”
“But I promise I won’t be mean anymore.”
“Honk honk honk honk.”
(I hope someone catches the references so you all don’t think I’m nuts.)
Tonight, my friend from high school threw a barbecue. I saw some people I hadn’t seen in years, others that I had seen last week. It was a nice, cool evening and we sat around outside, shooting the breeze and sipping beers until the bugs started to bite.
At one point, I was talking to a guy who I hadn’t seen in quite a while. He said he had just come from work. I asked what he did and he responded that he was now a massage therapist. When I tried to strike up conversation about the life of a masseuse, he corrected me that this was usually the term, at least within the business, for someone who gave happy endings instead of loosened up muscles. Oops.
Feeling like it would be a nice gesture, I decided to make an appointment with him. I tend to store all my stress between my shoulder-blades and, while I’m pretty relaxed right now, I know it’s still tighter in there than it should be. So, I made the appointment and he, out of nowhere, whips out the lotion and starts doing something to my left leg. For the next ten minutes, I hobbled around as one leg was significantly “looser” than the other. Everyone around us was pretty amused.
Later on, I asked him what I was supposed to wear, to which he responded, “um, clothing you’d be comfortable taking off?"
"I’m going to be naked?” I asked in an awkward lull in other conversations. Suddenly, people were looking at me. I felt myself blush.
“Um,” he was clearly getting just as uncomfortable, “I mean, that’s usually how it goes.”
I nodded and chuckled nervously. I’d known this guy since I was ten and the whole concept was somewhere between way too awkward and incredibly hilarious to me. I realized that I would be comfortable with a complete stranger than someone who I knew, even though I was sure he wouldn’t try anything. However, I managed to respond, “I mean, just as long as you don’t touch me anywhere.”
“That’s kind of going to be hard,” he said. I cocked a brow and he quickly added, “because you’re kind of paying me to touch you, I mean.”
This should be interesting.