Beauty Or Beast

Beloved studied me as I slowly turned in a circle for him.  The wrinkle between his brows was definitely wrinkling meaning that this outfit was also doomed to be cast aside as unworthy of the event.  So far the five outfits I had tried on and deemed appropriate had been discounted by him for a variety of reasons.  Some days it’s hard for me to believe that I can even dress myself for every day outings.

I never use to be this unsure of clothing, fashion or myself.  Lupus, though, has a way of keeping me humble.  My weight and figure has changed repeatedly with medications required to fight lupus.  My body carries the scars of various medical interventions from this disease as well.  And somewhere along the lines my confidence has slipped off as quickly as the lupus rash slips on my face.

So I twirled and modeled and hated every minute of it.  Hated the way I was so self-conscious and how Beloved would shake his head and tell me that the stuff I was worried about could not even be noticed in this or that.  I was leaning towards a turtleneck top with long sleeves and pants.  He shook back his head and insisted I consider the loose and almost gauze-like shirt to go with a smaller top.  He relented on the pants though.

I watched him bite back the words he wanted to say, the words he said so many times before.  He would tell me that I was beautiful, that no one could see the damage from this illness. That for the moment I would look like every other woman, beautiful.  But lupus doesn’t make me feel beautiful.  I know warriors and survivors can be beautiful.  But I feel like I’m covered in dirt and wounds and sweat and much as I fight this illness in the trenches.  And I don’t think I will ever be beautiful again.

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Some Individuals…

There are certain individuals who cannot resist a good puddle.  It doesn’t matter how big the puddle is, it must be entered with much enthusiasm.  Don’t worry about how dirty or clean the water is either, that’s not the point.  The point is to enter into the water and just enjoy it.

The problem with these individuals is that their joy upon entering the puddle cannot be restrained.  It is as if the water loosens the control and restraint they show throughout their lives.  And thus the great splashing must occur.  It isn’t their fault really.  I mean they seem unable to control themselves.  I try to remind myself of this when I encounter these individuals.  Well that and give them a wide berth because I’d rather not get splashed or soaked if it can be helped.  For the record this strategy has worked fairly well so far in my life.

Until.  Until I discovered that the four-footed one had found puddles.  When she was younger she wasn’t sure what to make of them.  Then she started walking through them, but not splashing.  However now, well now she has found the joy in splashing through puddles.  The bigger the splash the better.  (I’m pretty sure her theory is to splash the water up over her back.  I suspect this has very little to do with her getting wet and a great deal to do with getting as many casualties as she can.)

It is impossible to give the four-footed one a wide berth, not when she’s attached to me via a leash.  And this time of puddles are a given.  Pulling her away from one results in letting her get close or into another one.  It also means that this time of year I end up getting wet, from ankles to above the knees, depending upon the size of puddle she has managed to find.  So if you should see me out and about wearing rain pants and there is no rain present, please just don’t comment on my odd attire.  Just know it’s to protect myself.  From the splasher that suddenly entered my life.

A Fancy Mistake Of Sorts

I made a minor mistake today.  Well it didn’t start off as a mistake, more or less a fashion choice.  And in and of itself, it wasn’t a huge decision and for most people it would never been a mistake. But of course I am not most people (frankly when you get down to it, none of us are most people because we are all individuals) so it ended up being a mistake for me.

You see friends while I was getting ready to head off into my day, I opted to wear rings on my fingers and thumbs.  I do that.  I like rings. The problem is I have lupus which leads to finger issues.  I also have arthritis and sadly my knuckles are starting to show signs of it.  Today was one of those days where I could start off wearing my rings no problem (when my hands aren’t too bad they are actually a bit too loose on my fingers) and yet by the end of the afternoon I knew I had made a mistake.

But I’m a confident sort of girl (it happens with years of dealing with these issues) so I figured I’d handle this without too much fuss.  I tried a to gently tug them off, but it was a no go.  No big deal, I can just run my hands under cold water, even though my hands are already cold.  A friend suggested not to use water in case my rings slide off under running water were lost down the drain and instead offered ice as the solution in the past.  Neither worked.

One of Beloved’s sisters swore that butter, preferably the unsalted type (I’m afraid I didn’t ask why so I don’t understand the reasoning to it), was a sure-fire way to remove any ring stuck on a swollen finger, no matter how badly messed up the knuckle might seem.  Clearly my fingers and knuckles missed this memo.  And now, despite my confidence, I was beginning to realize that I had made a mistake.  Rings were a mistake.  They could become a costly mistake if my fingers decided to continue to impersonate a hot-dog that plumbs up when it cooks.

Thankfully just as the last shreds of my confidence were slipping off, I realized my fingers weren’t swelling any more.  Sure they weren’t going down, but they weren’t getting worse so I reasoned I could just wait it out.  They’d being to return back to their original size and I’d just be able to slip them off.  So that’s why despite being all set for bed I’m wearing my rings, earrings (I couldn’t get my fingers to undo them) and fancy necklace (again, clasps can be hell for me).  So hey, I might not be wearing fancy nightwear, but I’m all jeweled up!

It’s Electrifying

It was all about big hair in the house today.  I mean big, big hair.  No we weren’t reliving the 80s.  We also weren’t living the 60s or rocking beehives.  And no one suddenly developed a need to back-comb hair.

Instead it was a day of big hair thanks to static.  Static in the air because the air is rather dry and just about any movement results in incredible fly-away hair.  Well in the case of the court-footed one, massively static-filled ears.  She could almost take off with how big and pouffy her ears have become.

She isn’t a fan of the big hair or big ears.  Her answer to solve the problem?  Rub her face and ears all over the floor and curtains.  Because it builds up more static.  I guess she is working on the theory that once you’ve reached your maximum level things just sort of deflate.  If it works you will find me rubbing my head on the curtains because I really am not a fan of the fly-away hair.

Of course when we get to the rainy season my hair will hang lank and straight and again I shall complain.  Just as I’m sure the four-footed one will take her limp fur as a bit of an insult.  We will probably yearn for some of the “body” our hair/fur gets with is dry air.  But right now we aren’t thrilled with it.  Shocking isn’t it?

Casually Casual

Beloved made the causal observation today that society has become a little too casual in what is acceptable public behavior these days.  There was a time, he pointed out, when personal grooming habits would never take place in public.  Nowadays we are blessed with watching people shave, do their hair and put on makeup while driving their vehicles.  

Just today he witnessed a person eating cereal while navigating the roadways.  ThIs person, Beloved pointed out, was supposed to be paying attention to the road, not the milk dribbling down his chin.  Of course Beloved was also annoyed because this person was chewing with an open mouth.

He also was blessed to witness another indivudal do some excavating of her nasal cavities.  Granted he did not need to watch this, and yet like a person going past an accident he felt appalled and amazed that someone would do this.  In a coffee shop.  A public coffee shop.  

Between these images and his description of people’s underwear (they were displaying them through holes in sir clothes or low riding pants) I am wondering if maybe we haven’t gotten a bit too casual about causal behavior.   Or am I just getting too old?

Tight Laced

Someone was showing me how spies used to communicate with each other by how they laced their shoes.  It was thought to be a subtle form of communication because how many people would look at how another person laced up his shoes.  Well unless you happened to be an agent, than you might check another agent’s shoes as a form of communication.

I clearly never would have been able to be a spy.  I mean I have issues getting my laces even when I’m lacing my shoes.  I have no clue how I could do the intricate designs required for communication.  With my luck I’d end up accidentally communicating the wrong thing.  They’d probably strangle me with my shoelaces, or perhaps lash me with them.

Lets not even discuss the fact that stealthy is not my middle name.  Not by a long shot.  I may be related to Captain Obvious based on my inability to manage subtly and such.  Basically I’d be the agent who would be wearing a sign announcing who I was, who I was meeting and why.  Knowing me I’d probably be on loud-speaker will communicating with my fellow spy.

It’s probably for the best that I never wanted to be a spy, or learn all the cool ways to lace my shoes.  I’d be wrapped up in my laces with no way to set myself free or let  anyone know what happened!

When The Shoe Fits

I hate shoe shopping, I consider it a necessary evil in life.  Sure some people have walked barefoot enough that the bottom of their feet are kind of the soles of some, shoes.  I happen not to be that kind of person.

So I bought some shoes.  Shoes which should be comfortable and require no breaking in.  I know this because I’ve had these types of shoes before.  Evidently what happened before is not necessarily the rules we operate on today.  You see I wore my nice shoes today and promptly gave myself some charming blisters.  The kind of blisters that have wept and bleed and make walking a rather interesting endeavour now.

I know, I have no one to blame it myself.  I shouldn’t have assumed that shoes would be comfortable enough.  Just because the same type of shoes were kind to me before doesn’t mean they always will be.  So my blisters are yet another lesson or reminder in the dangers of making assumptions.  Because evidently I have not grasped the dangers of making assumptions and acting upon those assumptions.  Or rather I get the concept, however I believe it can’t happen to me.  Until it does and then I want to moan and complain, but about what?  My own decisions?  That seems rather silly to do.  So I will simply tend to my blisters and reassess my feelings around shoe shopping.