I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
I’ve never had ‘chest attention’ and it’s definitely not something I welcome and wonder how girls with massive paps or girls who are all nipple and no tit cope with such attention. I swear I have had dirty looks from disapproving mothers and sneaky grins from approving fathers who feel now they are invited to look at my regular boobs legitimately. Of course I could just stop wearing it as then I would not need to worry that my boobs escaping over the top of my bra can be seen through the cheap material but unfortunately my options are completely limited right now, unless I want to be seen in those tie dye skirts and woolly cardigans I was so fond of in my even larger, pre-uni days when all I was concerned about was Nirvana, Merrydown cider, coloured DMs and not getting battered by the ‘ravers’. Those were the days. Now all I am concerned about is accentuated fannies, global bums, Britney and Burberry wearing Neds. None of which helps my need for clothes to cover my awkward bulges. Now that I have cut out wheat from my huge diet in a bid to erase my chronic fatigue once and for all I am reluctant to buy new, bigger clothes, hoping that removing all the breads and pastas will aid in the removal of flab. If you see me in a few weeks and I am still lumbering around in my freebie T-shirt you will know the not-as-painful as originally expected wheat free diet is not aiding my chub-loss. However, if I am skipping around in my special skirts or in trousers that are not burst at the seams, you will know that it has been a success and I have lost a fraction of my excess body. Am keeping everything painfully crossed and out of the bread bin in anticipation of getting out of this damn, over-washed shirt.
And so I go prepare for the gay wedding of next year which is sure to full be of grandeur, i.e. poppers and an Elvis impersonator.
Multiple Lil Red hugs
Dark Angel, where have you been all our life
Baked sweet potatoes
Cutting out snowflakes in anticipation of the impending snow
Freshly painted nails
The smell of blown-dry hair
My hair which looks bedraggled and spiral permy
UK Queer Eye, although it hasn’t started I just know it will be shite
Hollyoaks, kill Helen Cunningham
My filthy oven which just smoked out our entire flat
My cleaning frenzy wife who forgot to clean the filthy oven :-)
1/26/2004 08:21:00 PM
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