It wasn't overly hot in Brooklyn this August (for crissakes I'm from Alabama) but it was still nice when summer turned to fall. Maybe it's the leftover Judith side of me that prefers to dress in layers - cardigans or flannel over shirts and black leggings or jeans. Basically, more skin coverage, less... Tight and visible. No more feeling compelled to let my cleavage be out on display. Much less sweat pooling under my boobs too. And I always thought women loved fall because of pumpkin spice drinks.
I've found that skirts and dresses do have their advantages - in hot weather, they're usually pretty light fabric and the lack of coverage, as much as I prefer to be modest about Val's gifts, is good for keeping cool. And a once-piece dress does cut down on outfit-building time, I've known since my Judith days. But it highlights the figure and makes me appear hyper-feminine, when I would like to shoot for something as neutral as possible. Fall apparel here I come.
The summer was also a rough time to be in a cramped, non-air-conditioned apartment. There were times when I allowed myself to strip down to bra and panties (let's be honest - even just the panties as long as I can close the blinds) just for going around, albeit only when Josh wasn't around. You could use the argument that "I haven't got anything he hasn't seen" but I don't buy that. You wouldn't say that to your partner's twin, and that's basically what I've become. I still have the right to say who gets to see me in what appearance. Besides, I made the guy swear off sex with his fiancee - he doesn't need the temptation.
Let's face it, while it is a nice way to beat the heat, it's also for me. I may be as much woman as man lately but I don't think anyone would begrudge me the desire to lounge around half-dressed looking this way. I'm getting used to the idea that I have a body in its prime again - with sexy, if unusual proportions. It helps me feel more at home in this skin. Besides, if I have to lug around these big jiggly mini-watermelons, and all the frustrations that entails, I might as well take a moment or two each day to enjoy them.
Speaking of enjoying things when Josh isn't around, I discovered a little gelato place around the corner that also helped to beat the heat... Despite Val's complaints that while yes, their chocolate-pistachio is better than sex, she has a wedding dress to fit into soon and Josh promised to discourage bad behavior.
After making my third, and I swore final, trip there in a week, I found a coffee shop not far from the apartment that was hiring. It's one of those hipster indie places, a real homey vibe to it. More frou-frou than the old Tyler Blake would have been comfortable inhabiting, but he's been gone a while now. The pace feels just about right for Ty-Val.
Josh confessed his disappointment... In a way it's nice to know there are some points of friction in this seemingly-perfect relationship. I already had an inkling, but this is the first interaction we've had that could almost be considered a "fight" (albeit a one-sided, low-key one.)
I think he was hoping I would keep trying to work in Early Childhood Education, but these are the jobs that are available now, and we need money.
Hmmm... I just wrote "we" need money. We're a "we" for sure, just... A very unconventional one. And I felt a little bad letting him down, since he's not controlling or a nag except about this one thing, and he has reason to. This is clearly a sore spot for him, and he went on this rant about stalling, and living up to my potential, and moving to a new phase in life... And I sat there and took it, instead of getting upset, because it hit home.
I could use some direction. I could use a chance to settle down and get to that new phase of life myself, and stop working unfulfilling Joe Jobs (or Jane Jobs.) Only I don't have a choice. This isn't my life, I'm very limited in what I can do with it, and if he understood the truth...
Well, things would be different then wouldn't they?
I kissed him and told him to hang in a little longer. "Our" lives are just beginning.
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