Kangaroos Live in the Pockets of Jumpsuits

In the middle of a raging stress headache (thanks, work related anxiety that makes me feel like I’m going to get fired because I couldn’t do the things right today!), I glanced into the mirror.

I look like someone’s middle aged mother.

YEAH, I KNOW I AM. People say middle age starts at 40. Realistically, I’m thinking 35 might be more appropriate. Between life hazards such as: cancer, heart disease, strokes, and the rona, I don’t know if I’ll make like my great aunts, uncle, grandma, and grandpa (all on my mother’s side) and cheat death well into my late 80’s-90’s.

…although Uncle Pete never married and I think he lived the longest. He was pretty close to hitting 100. At his funeral, I learned he loved to bake pies. I wish I had known that sooner.

Between us girls, I’m going to tell you something- I have always felt frumpy. I’ve tried to be cool through the years but I only managed to look more awkward thanks to poor “fashion choices” and not knowing how to dress my body type. I still want to wear all the things I know are not flattering but hold onto some hope that maybe it will be different this time because a few years have passed.

NOPE!

You’d think with all of the wonderful, beautiful, incredibly witty gays in my life ONE OF THEM WOULD DRESS ME PROPERLY! Alas, I am still looking for the Tan to my inner Jonathan (please feel free to apply!)

I brought this up to Josh because that’s what I do- I basically tell him everything even when I know he’s probably going to tease me about it. Or tell me I’m a twat for whatever reason. It’s our dynamic and I appreciate he puts up with my anxiety and the overall ridiculous shit that comes out of my mouth. Don’t tell him I said this, but he is incredibly supportive and it means a lot to me- I say don’t tell him even though he’s going to read this because I’m making him.

And he’ll start demanding I bring him food, even though we are an hour apart and, you know, Coronageddon.

I should have asked if this theoretical jumpsuit would have a belted or elastic waist. It wouldn’t matter, though, because my already wide hips would look wider and people would be standing around, waiting for kangaroos to emerge from my pockets…unless the pant part of said jumpsuit had straight, wide legs.

Then there would be no kangaroos- only disappointment.

My friend, Katie, doesn’t have this problem. I asked her years ago if she has ever been frumpy.

She said no. I believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her not look absolutely adorable. And I’ve known her for a lot of years. Also, she lives in NYC, so I’m pretty sure you have to be fashionable to rent an apartment there.

Katie is petite. I am a busty, curvy lady, so it’s always fun for me when she sends pictures of cute clothes she’s looking at buying- because they’re clothes I would love to wear but cannot. I get to live vicariously through her closet as I sit around in my jeans and t-shirts. Or in my sweats, nightgown, and oversized cardigan that I currently find myself wearing.

…and yet, I wonder why I look like someone’s middle aged mom.

More posts to come!

Published by amberalice

Kansas Native. Knitter. Amateur photographer. Lover of love, plants, and great burritos.

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3 Comments

  1. Can’t help but notice that scandalous picture set as my profile pic.

    As the lead of your army of “wonderful, beautiful, incredibly witty gays” I have to speak for all of us and say we will gladly dress you… you just have to be willing to deal with the aftermath.

    Liked by 1 person

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