that's inappropriate

Don't forget X-Games starts today!


I struggle with appropriateness. Like yesterday, I was getting kiddos ready for the pool and it's hot--DAMN HOT--and so I just had my sarong tied around my middle, over my bikini. Well, in the hustle and bustle of getting the hell out of the house, I failed to put a shirt on. (Yes, I had my bikini top on. Perv.) Anyway, in the summer I drive my jeep. It has no doors and top, rather like its owner (snort--look, I made a funny) and I was pretty much driving away before I realized I'd forgotten to grab a t-shirt.

Oh well, I thought, what the hell. I doubt anyone even noticed since it takes all of 60 seconds to drive over to my gym, where the pool is. Well, sure, guys in the weight room gawked once I got there, but they'll get over it.

And then I had to run back home to get yet another two kids and I was walking along, checking messages on the cell phone, head down, and someone muttered as he passed me by:

That's inappropriate.

Now. I didn't look up. He could've been on the phone. He could've been talking to someone else. But I just had that crawling feeling that he was talking to me. Nasty bugger, but again, that's his problem. I don't actually care that he thought it wasn't appropriate--plenty of girls wear much less when they work out there. (The difference in a skimpy sports bra and a bikini top being...?) And truly, the more comfortable I get in my own skin (and I have become strangely comfortable) it's only bound to get worse. I already take my shirt off to run because face it, nekkidity is cooler.

But I do this stuff pretty often: Spout out with stuff I shouldn't say. Wear inappropriately low-cut tops. Drink too much. Bandy myself about the internet with the call-sign "Sex." Sing with the band. Fail to apply sunscreen. Stare at acqaintances' fake boobs.

I guess I'm just wondering when the hell I'm going to grow up.

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