Whose idea was it
– please enlighten me –
back in the eighties
to instal changing rooms in clothes shops
with no privacy?
Mirrors were no friend of mine at home
let alone when in the company of svelte girls.
Harsh-lit under lighting
guaranteed to magnify my cellulite
and glint on the mouthful of metal
glued to my teeth by a dentist with no pity for
I was encircled by girls –
with perfect hair
with perfect bodies
with perfect teeth
with perfect make up.
Whose idea was it, I ask you?
It was the school changing rooms all over again
and the dash through the communal showers
as fast as I could without slipping over on those
god-awful brown and yellow tiles.
I still hate shopping for clothes –
thighs too robust to fit in jeans
knees too chunky for on-the-knee skirts
biceps too muscly for long sleeved shirts.
I like my hair though.
It’s too wild and woolly for fashion these days.
But about that one thing, I don’t care.
Over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Magaly is hosting and asks us to write about one of three bees – the Queen Bee, the bee that works the hardest or the bee that doesn’t fit in. Of course I chose the latter. I don’t feel that I’ve ever fitted in anywhere really (although the writing and art community seems to be suiting me rather well these days!). That not fitting in thing was certainly a theme of my growing up…
Please head on over to The Garden, have a good read and if you feel inspired, join in!