Perception Frame

I don’t have a fancy camera, I’ve never taken a photography class and I believe Instagram can make anyone a photographer if they want to be. (To be clear, that is not to discredit advanced photo takers.)

I can’t help but feel that the blue sky is different from each perspective. The sky above is just as pretty – yet I feel the like driftwood yearns to be on the other side… cause it’s always greener over there.

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[On a farm in Hammond, Wisconsin]

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A-Cup: The Struggle Is Real

I remember asking my mom if I could get a bra, knowing very well it was not necessary and only because all my friends actually needed them. Most young girls are probably embarrassed to ask because they’re weirded out by their new body; I was embarrassed because I didn’t want to get called out on my want for breasts.

Eventually I was able to comfortably fill an Almost A-Cup from JCPenney’s. Since a boob job is unacceptable and unattainable to a 14 year old, I had a plan: gain a bunch of weight, get really fat – then I’ll have boobs.

When I got pregnant one thing I was looking forward to, obviously, was having some real woman tits. I’d waited 22 years for this moment. They will produce milk and grow because that’s what happens to everyone… right?

No.

It does not happen to everyone. It ended up on a list of concerns to talk to the doctor about, not because I thought it was a health concern or affecting my baby, I just felt gypped. For Christ’s sake, I just want to know what it’s like to have cleavage.

Some women do not produce the majority of their breast milk until they’ve given birth. Don’t worry. -My Doctor.

I ended up formula feeding… with a flat chest.

Nowadays, I’m mostly concerned with finding clothes that fit my confused body. I’m not picky – I just want my attire to accommodate me. Just because I lack upstairs doesn’t mean my ass is flat or my hips are nonexistent. I need a dress created that fits as a medium on top and a large on the bottom. Maybe a whole store can be established called, Flat & Wide. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about my lower half, I’m perfectly content having an ample hindquarters.

Someday I’ll get a boob job, bucket list item #11. Until then, I’ll keep falsely advertising with my padded bras and trick everyone into thinking I’m a solid B cup.


DAILY PROMPT: KICK IT – WHAT’S THE 11TH ITEM ON YOUR BUCKET LIST?

More Food Less Flowers

Most people females would be delighted at the sight of a huge bouquet of flowers awaiting their arrival.

Surprise!

They’d pick them up and proceed to bury their face into the overgrown blossoming buds, take an exaggerated whiff and end the transaction with a soft, pleasant smile. Me? I’d stand about 5 feet away, one eyebrow arched and wonder who they are supposed to be for; Brandin wouldn’t do that.

My husband enjoys the instant gratification of handing me flowers, besides… I’m not super keen on them. I’d rather have food; he knows snacks and treats are better than a bunch of flowers that are going to die (mostly because after the initial feeding of the white powder, I’ll never water them again). Worse yet, they’ll die and stay put in the vase longer than they should.

Food is just better.

These flowers, wildflowers, tulips, roses (which I dislike most of all)…however you’d like to picture them: go imagination crazy. There’s no card. No explanation of who they could be from or for?  I have to assume this hypothetical bouquet was left by mistake. If you’re leaving flowers with no correspondence attached, they are fair game…

…so, I’d take them and enjoy them.

The unfortunate thing is, every time I looked at them I’d wonder if some guy is bitter that his lady friend didn’t guess they were from him. He’s probably not wanting to mention it to the intended recipient in fear of coming across like a complete douchebag.

So, uh… you never said anything about the flowers.

Obviously it wasn’t done for the recognition – otherwise he would have left a card or hand delivered them! Who just leaves a bouquet of flowers sitting out with no direction? Seriously…what an idiot.

Later, in this hypothetical day I’m having, my husband would come home from work and I’d begin spouting off about what kind of a person leaves flowers with no card? I’d go on and on and on until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Then, I’d apologize because they were indeed from my husband and I ruined yet another surprise.

That is the story of our married life.


In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Secret Admirers.”

[You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?]