"Men who have sex with men."
Forms for preparation for the abroad departure. Health vaccinations. Hep-A. Looking with my mother. - Becky, we didn't get this, she said.
Look at each other, me thinking : aw fuck naw. My mother thinking : I don't know, but I knew that if she felt I really should get it she would stall my whole day for me to go to the doctor. But she then read the list of those for whom it is especially recommended.
"Men who have sex with men." Read aloud, my mom, "Don't have sex with men," she told me. She looked at me, smiling nervously urgently, "Don't have sex!" she said releasing her fears. "No sex! Hung and kiss, but no sex!"
Special moment.
Later in the day from that moment, and earlier from me writing this, I was bra shopping at JCPenn(e?)y's. I equally hate and love bra shopping. It's tedious, all the little hangers, and in my nature I can't just let them fall around the changing room after I leave, I have to reassemble them so perfectly as I can. Fucking, tedious. And so many more misses than hits.
But also,
I love it.
In the way that I buy underwear when I'm stuck in a phase. In the way that I change my hair at the transition between phases. I love to hunt for the closest-to perfection, the closest-to love. I do this with lipsticks too.
I mean not to give you the wrong idea, I am no seductress. But I am in love with color and womanlies and applying these to my life, a life that is otherwise quite blunt and square and boyish.
So I was browsing, after having handed off my reassembled post-tried-on bras to an attendant, who had eyes so green they frightened me, and a very sternness about her that also frightened me. So I was scrutinizing the brassieres, crouched on my haunches real low to look at the sizes (38B) and I felt someone walk by me so I jerked my neck as a reflex to see who, and then I was on the ground tights-covered legs splayed to the attendant lady and her what-seemed-to-be friend as they chatted at the side. She already made me flustered. I didn't have anything to say. I said : "Oh!" Sitting there. Goofy. Bewildered. The ladies were looking at me. "It gets kind of tight in there!" She said. I felt slightly like a carpet stain.
Look at each other, me thinking : aw fuck naw. My mother thinking : I don't know, but I knew that if she felt I really should get it she would stall my whole day for me to go to the doctor. But she then read the list of those for whom it is especially recommended.
"Men who have sex with men." Read aloud, my mom, "Don't have sex with men," she told me. She looked at me, smiling nervously urgently, "Don't have sex!" she said releasing her fears. "No sex! Hung and kiss, but no sex!"
Special moment.
Later in the day from that moment, and earlier from me writing this, I was bra shopping at JCPenn(e?)y's. I equally hate and love bra shopping. It's tedious, all the little hangers, and in my nature I can't just let them fall around the changing room after I leave, I have to reassemble them so perfectly as I can. Fucking, tedious. And so many more misses than hits.
But also,
I love it.
In the way that I buy underwear when I'm stuck in a phase. In the way that I change my hair at the transition between phases. I love to hunt for the closest-to perfection, the closest-to love. I do this with lipsticks too.
I mean not to give you the wrong idea, I am no seductress. But I am in love with color and womanlies and applying these to my life, a life that is otherwise quite blunt and square and boyish.
So I was browsing, after having handed off my reassembled post-tried-on bras to an attendant, who had eyes so green they frightened me, and a very sternness about her that also frightened me. So I was scrutinizing the brassieres, crouched on my haunches real low to look at the sizes (38B) and I felt someone walk by me so I jerked my neck as a reflex to see who, and then I was on the ground tights-covered legs splayed to the attendant lady and her what-seemed-to-be friend as they chatted at the side. She already made me flustered. I didn't have anything to say. I said : "Oh!" Sitting there. Goofy. Bewildered. The ladies were looking at me. "It gets kind of tight in there!" She said. I felt slightly like a carpet stain.