Although sometimes when you would walk up to me and say hi, and chat while fiddling with your wedding ring, I would notice, in the folds of your shirt, a bit of your chest visible between buttons. Suddenly being conscious of it, I would look away. You wouldn't even know why I did what I did, finish our terse chat and walk away.
So, the other day, when you walked up to me, like a little boy, that you sometimes are and asked. In a nimble voice. If I had a safety-pin. Something had ripped your buttons open. You were holding your shirt together with your fingers.
A trifle taken aback, I didn't know whether to stare at your face or your buttons. I involuntartily fished out my hand bag and started rummaging through all the pouches.
Simultaneously regretting that why being a woman I wouldn't keep basic stuff like a safety pin or a clip or a rubber band handy. Some women I have come across are so sorted, they carry everything from a snack of salted almonds to headache pills to scarves and god knows what not. And here I am, struggling to find a mere safety-pin.
You patiently waited through my dramatic search. I looked at you hopeless. I didn't have a safety-pin in my bag. You half smiled, perhaps and began walking away, still clutching your shirt together.
I asked someone else. She had one and fished it out immediately. I borrowed it from her for you. Although I didn't say it to her in as many words. And walked to you and handed it over. You grinned. This time, totally.
And right in front of me pinned your shirt right back. I didn't know where to look anymore. So I ingulged myself and inhaled that vision.
2 comments:
If not-being comfortable equates to shame, I tend to wear a round neck tee so that my chest hair don't meet someone's eyes. The same reason, why I always wear a tee under the shirt, because buttons are not zippers. 'Why are they looking at me like that?' I confidently turn away and when no one's looking check if my fly's open. Sometimes, I know my sock is fraying at the toe - not a hole yet, but discolored. I tend to not remove my shoes, and if I have to, the socks go too. If I'm not wearing shorts (which I rarely do) I pull my trousers down or my socks up to cover up the skin if I feel it is sticking out when sitting cross-legged. Or while squatting, I try my shirt to either stay tucked in, or at least cover the waist and let my inner-wear stay 'inner' only. Shame? I don't really know. I guess that was braided into my psyche by the non-instruction of what I was not doing. Now, it is just one of the lenses through which I judge others, and continue to learn that sometimes, it means nothing and things exist just in my head. Others don't even notice. How easy it is to be invisible!
Cheers,
Blasphemous Aesthete
:-) :-)
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