I spent about two hours floating around on a line boat today. Just shooting the cow manure with one of the only other females I have ever worked with, yapping about this and that. You know how us girls get.. We be chatty. Anyway, surrounding yourself with men every day, all day takes its toll every once in a while, and I think we both appreciated the girl time. One thing led to another and we began to discuss one of the staples of our fair sex. Marriage.
We are both going to weddings here in the next 6 or so months, she a little sooner than I, and we somehow went from “were so happy for our friend/brother was getting married” to: God…how much do you hate shopping? In-between that was a loathsome rant about dresses in general, and strap-less things that don’t hold in the ladies. Now, neither of us are polka dot bikini wearing kind of girls.. if you catch my drift. We got us some curves, and we are not exactly dress wearing folk. We work with men, doing jobs that men do, and an unfortunate side effect is that you either A. Look like a moron as you giggle and carry on like the world is all peaches and cream…or B. Realize that your voice drops just the tiniest bit while you’re at work, and accept that your just “one of the guys”…Here is how our “Dresses” conversation went… I will try to shorten it and make it snappy.. you know, life with out all the boring and what not.
C: Yeah, so the maid of honor went to an intense cycling class the day before we tried on our bridesmaid dresses, and when she got there she could barely move, let alone try on any dresses.
B: Ah…Cycling. Get’s ya every time.
(insert her laughing here.. that’s right.. I’m funny:p)
C: You know it! So anyway, I’m now the big girl, and the other two bridesmaids are about a 6 and an 8 and everything they try on seems to slide over them like a silk hanky. Where as I’m standing there like some bewildered beast as the snooty saleswoman eyes me up and down and finally concedes..”hmm.. Let me see if we even carry that in your size.”
C: Ugh, I hate trying on clothes…
B: Me too.. If only they had beds in the changing rooms so you could lay down and slide that last fat roll in. It’s so close when your standing.. It just needs a nudge in the right direction.
(Laugh. Score two for Brittney!)
C: Then she starts going on about fruit and how I’m not really a pear, and I’m not really an apple.. Blah blah blah.
B: What’s with that stupid fruit thing that everyone uses these days?
C: I should have said..No, I’m more like a Banana with Tits.
(Insert my laugh here, then she slapped her hand over her mouth and said, oh shit, that sorta sounds like I’m a transvestite…Insert more laughter, and some trouble breathing here. Score two for C!)
B:…Yeah, or a cherry without a stem.
(And Brittney clinched the win!)
So this is where we come back to reality…All sexual fruit innuendos aside, where did this idea that women have to conform to a certain shape come about? Granted, I see that some women have small tops and larger bottoms, and that there are women out there with heavier tops and thinner bottoms. But, what about those of us with strange curves; curves no fruit known to man can possibly encompass? Are we supposed to start referring to ourselves as deformed vegetation? Like an Orange with tumors, or possible some mutated combination of a tangerine and a Banana. I suppose my point is this. We are all beautiful..Each one of us. We all have something to offer this world, and I don’t think we odd-balls should feel bad about not fitting in the fruit bowl.
Just food for thought! Cheers!