Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 31

It's stressful for me to wear clothes. Indulge me a moment and consider how often you wear clothes each day, either because you want to or feel you must. You probably even wear them to bed. Some people hate their bodies so much they wish they could wear clothes in the ocean, the lake, the pool, the sauna, the hot springs, the hot tub, the bath tub, the shower. Many women who are not Muslim wish someone would provide them a beach burka.

Because I find most clothes a poor match for my landlocked Pisces fish body, I do what I can to get around it. Work from home as much as possible. Find something to wear to work that doesn't feel like bondage requiring the safe word to be used. Every bra hurts. Even organic bamboo sports bras and strapless wireless ones which offer no support and don't even manage to keep covering boobs. I've had the bra fitting at Victoria's Secret and online approximations. Bra fittings assume static breasts that don't change according to hormonal shifts and French bread intake. I know mothers and women with big ole titties who love bras for support and even sleep in them and appreciate the way a heavily constructed bra keeps the girls above the waist. I want these beautiful women to have the support they feel they need. But I am not these women.

The more I go out in the world without a bra, the more I notice that most people aren't paying attention anyway. Except in the freezer aisle. Eyes be bulgin' in the freezer aisle.

When I was at a festival in Idaho last weekend, I felt ecstatic walking barefoot and braless across the football field concert space. I was the ONLY person walking with my shoes off. In the summer at a festival in a hippie resort town next to a massive mountain lake. WTF. No glass was allowed at the festival. No shards on the ground waiting to stab feet. Do people in Idaho think you get COVID from foot to grass contact?

I am happiest in places where most days, the amount of clothing required can be folded and placed in a clutch purse. Hawaii. Southern California. And probably Florida. I'll let you know when I get there.

You may have seen this coming, but I am tempted to believe that dude who decided to subject the rest of us to money and time, the one whose nuts I'd like to bloody with my knee cap--that dude put clothes on us, too. Cuz clothing pairs so well with money and time.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness