The weather is turning cold here in Minnesota; its been 40 degrees and the air has that chill, the one that gets into your bones and won’t let you loose. If you are from around here you know what this means: it’s sweater weather. Now, if you have followed my journey over at the other blog at all (don’t worry if you haven’t, like this space its been a little dormant too), you’ll know that I don’t have any sweaters to break out this season—you see—all of my cold weather clothes are too large for me now. That is except for this little number.
Heather, light and dark, a plunging V-neck, with horizontal stripes. Yep, horizontal. Stripes.
Do you remember when someone told you what you couldn’t do and you did it anyway, because you thought you could, hell for that matter, you should? Not like when you were four, but like when you started to become a grown up? I do.
When I was a pre-teen my mom told me that there were two rules I could not break. One: do not ever go to the video arcade, that is where all the “druggies and losers” hang out. Two: don’t wear red. Whores wear red. When Sweetie and I first got together, there were essentially two colors in my wardrobe, black and some variation on black. No color, and certainly no red. Somehow though, in all of my moving and traveling around that time, a red hued outfit made its way into my wardrobe, and I wore it. On a date, with her. Well my heavens to murgatroyd if she didn’t declare me the most beautiful woman in the world—and not in that whore-ish way—upon first glance in my hot-sy tot-sy outfit.
When I was first finding my way back to the church after a long young adult sabbatical of sorts, I had been out for a few years already, and quite comfortably so. I was in a relationship with a man, but everyone in my life at the time knew I was bi—except my new church community. I did what I thought was best, I went through the process of coming out again. To me, this was no big deal. I was comfortable in who I was, but knowing the climate of the church at the time (ummmm… read, not progressive, at all) I thought it best if I put all my cards on the table. I met with my pastors, my prayer group, my friends and finally my favorite youth pastor from when I was a kid. Do you know what he told me? It went something like this: You had better never tell anyone else this while you are involved in youth ministry. It will kill your career. People don’t approve and will not understand. I came out anyway. I kept telling people anyway. Because it just felt good and right. Turns out he was right, but so was I.
I am wearing horizontal stripes today. I know the rules, and I haven’t lost all the weight I’d like to yet either. But it’s cold, and I am feeling cute. Hello fall. Hello friends.