As we wind down on this years 52-week blog challenge, this week's writing prompt asks about what participants wear when they write.
The flippant answer is: "Clothes."
Seriously, though, I work from home. Nobody sees me, except for the occasional delivery person. The cats certainly don't care about my attire. The dog loves me regardless of how or whether I am clothed. The horses haven't expressed an opinion: they just want their treats and maybe a moment's attention. My husband generally doesn't comment: he knows better.
I wear what's comfortable. In warm weather, that's usually a loose, flowing dress or shorts and tee shirt. In the winter, it's jeans and a sweater. If the weather suits, I'll go barefoot; if not, then slippers and/or socks. Sometimes I even wear shoes all day.
I share the preference to go without shoes with my younger son. This is the kid who took Mama's words to heart when I told him about my own barefoot adventures with livestock: "It's easier to hose off your feet than to clean your shoes."
Unfortunately, a sedentary lifestyle, age, and a sluggish thyroid mean weight gain. So, many of my outfits don't fit any more. Last weekend I finally decided to start clearing out closets. I sighed over the pretty clothes I wore in my "skinny" days even as I acknowledged that I'll never again fit into them. It's a difficult and painful realization to admit to corpulence.
Which leads me to the medical profession and my distaste for its judgmental practitioners. A long while ago our family doctor shut down her small practice. I transferred to another physician who had the audacity to tell me to eat fewer cheeseburgers. I know I'm fat. That remark was really unnecessary.
I never went back.
So, I've abandoned fashion. I'm not going to lose weight. And I prize comfort above all when it comes to clothing.
Dressing to impress is for other people.
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