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

teenage sensitivity.

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!