I am perfectly dressed for a sunny Sunday, except that my chest does not quite fill the top half of my dress well enough. I am afraid that my boobs are not of the right size to do the decollate justice, even though I am wearing a push up bra. You can give mother nature all the help you want, but sometimes it still is not enough.
Oh well, if I run fast, no one will notice it, but I am afraid I will not be able to run fast in the ankle boots I am wearing today. They are the ones I have not worn in a year and have rather high heels and no, they do not bother my knees. As a matter of fact, the heels make my knees feel better, maybe because of the angle they turn them at.
I am wearing what is, right now, my favorite dress and I find any excuse to put it on, unless I forget that I own it. That does happen on occasion and that is one benefit of being forgetful about your clothes. I am wearing them with a pair of pantyhose I found along with two other pair in the drawer of my antique wardrobe yesterday. I also found some pairs of matching socks and perfectly white handkerchiefs. Those will come in handy when my nose starts to run in the cold winter air.
But we are not at that point yet, although it was chilly this morning when I took Tyke for a walk. At least the sun is shining in a perfectly blue sky and I must say that it makes me very cheerful and look forward to the day. I kept thinking it was Sunday all day yesterday, but I am glad that I was mistaken about that. I feel that I have gotten a day of reprieve and get to enjoy an extra day of laziness. I always do Sundays as they were intended in the old testament, with the least amount of effort. Not that I am a believer.
In my dreams last night, my whole grown up life passed the revue and there was also much symbolism in them that I will spend the rest of the day trying to figure out. Not that I will break my head thinking about it. Some of it is more obvious than the rest, but all of it had to do with my identity as a woman, which is not so strange considering my present situation.
I have no doubt about my femininity and the fact that I am most clearly a female in all the molecules that make up me. I like being a woman too much, but not necessarily by the conventional standards. I suppose I should say that I very much like being a human being with the icing and the frills on top. But I don't like the color pink and I don't like to be girlish. I very much, in all ways, like to be an adult.