Sunday Scribblings: tha assignment
The Inside Panels of Book Covers, by gogo
She stood fixing an invisible sock in her Wellington Boots, hiding the casual scratch of an itch, with the facade of sock maintenance. It was all about propping the circumstance for her when it came to body image. Her clothes, finely put together, each piece hemmed together with precise color coordination and style. Though the colors and styles did not rely on any sense of today’s fashion-in, the observer would have been lulled into believing she was naturally fashionable by how her outfit came together so. She supposed she was fashionable, after years of paying close attention to this part of herself.
Her skirt was an old thin knitted blanket with pale blues, greens, and yellow waves that she sowed into its new existence. She gave it a kilt cut and starched look simply by molding it with felt underneath. She had found the felt in some random thrift store box during an unremembered experience. Her navy Peacoat was a petite find at an army surplus store down Route 66 in Missouri. It was the best place to shop army surplus she thought. The Wellie boots were the off the cuff accent for the rainy day, that brought her look together.
She wasn’t a materialistic person in her mind’s eye, and thought her friends wouldn’t think it of her. She just liked to decorate herself. As a little girl, she always seemed to loose those Barbie dolls she got at one Foster home or another. She never had time to play dress up with them anyway, and when the time came to give them up, she still had the need – the desire to dress something, so she decided to start with herself. This is what she thought as she found the window of the vacuum cleaner repair shop to push back the coffee stained brown curl behind her ear. She didn’t mind if her curly bobby cut look fell out of place, it just gave her a chance to play with it.
She felt most people just saw the outside, became intimidated or judgmental because she took time to present her outside, but that wasn’t about her. She supposed, if given a chance, she could explain to them that the image helped her maintain a structure to her outside world that never really seemed to be there, but then that was too deep a thought for those who only went as far as the surface to judge her.
She always found it interesting that everyone was kind of a book cover in the world. A labeled shirt or not, everyone seem to judge a book by its cover looking for the type they’d like to read. She knew those who tried to come into her life because of her book cover, who could only seem to wade at the surface were just folks she weeded out, like she weeded out the noise from all those judgmental stares. She was after all a person, complicated and real, just like everyone else.
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