Wednesday, December 08, 2004
"Go Your Own Way"
I call this my Fleetwood Mac top. The sleeves are long and flowy and the semi-sheer fabric totally makes me think of Stevie Nicks. I half-love it and am half-embarassed by it; yet I still can't resist finding occasions to put it on. I have to work hard not to envision the scene from the movie "Sid and Nancy" when Nancy tears off a dress because she thinks it makes her look like Stevie Nicks. 
I'm not sure what possessed me to wear this top to jury duty today. I got a letter telling me to wear work-appropriate clothing. I assumed they didn't really mean for me to wear my hospital scrubs, so I guess I thought this top was more in alignment with their thinking. As I got to the courtroom, however, I realized that the top was a little clingier than I'd remembered. I realized that my breasts have grown a cup size since this photo was taken. And I realized that I was barely keeping myself from popping out of the blouse. Okay, that embarassment that I feel when I think of Sid and Nancy? Worse! I kept thinking that if they selected me to be on the jury, I'd be a distraction to all parties - breasts just jumping right out into the courtroom. Fortunately, I wasn't selected and headed out the door on my merry way. That's when I heard him, singing down the hall behind me.
"Sexy woman. You are a bad girl." The tune was very melodic and sounded familiar, but I didn't recognize the song. (Have any of you heard these lyrics?) I slowed my step to listen and realized the man behind the voice was the only other person in the hallway with me. I assumed he could not be singing to me, as Stevie Nicks is not exactly a "bad girl" image, even as the breasts are bobbing up out of my clothes. But I resisted turning around, just in case.
After jury duty, I headed to a book signing with C. She gave me the once over.
"That shirt..." she paused, smiling.
"Oh, is it not appropriate for this event?" I got nervous again. This top sometimes makes me feel the epitome of self-conscious.
"It's a little revealing," C admitted. "But it's sexy." She leaned in to get a better view before kissing me.
Throughout the reading, there was a man standing across the room from me who kept staring at me. He gave me the willies. I crossed my arms over my chest to make sure he didn't get a view. He had stringy, greasy blonde hair and a bright red nose. I laughed to myself, "Lucky for him, it's coming onto Christmas."
All of a sudden, it occurred to me... All my political and philosophical views on prostitution suddenly came into question. If I were a prostitute, I might actually have to sleep with that sour, smelly-looking man. Yuck!
Oh, I still agree with Pat Califia in theory:
"A [slut] is someone men hate because she is potentially out of their control. If she has to pleasure many men briefly to escape belonging permanently to one particular man, she will. Whores... get men to part with some of their property instead of becoming property themselves... and are more interested in how thick a man's wallet is than the length of his dick. The whore does not sell her body. She sells her time. So she has time that is not for sale, that belongs to no one but herself. [As opposed to wives who work all day at their jobs and then come home and take care of the house for free, leaving no time for themselves.]" Pat Califia says more (this quote is from "Macho Sluts"), but I think I've made my point.
In theory, I have always appreciated Pat Califia's view of the sex industry. But suddenly, tonight, I realized for the first time why I couldn't be a prostitute. I mean, I already have a job I like, so I wasn't exactly considering switching careers. But for the first time, looking at this disheveled man who was drooling over me, I realized why I wasn't suited to that profession: I am too much of a snob to be a prostitute.


I'm not sure what possessed me to wear this top to jury duty today. I got a letter telling me to wear work-appropriate clothing. I assumed they didn't really mean for me to wear my hospital scrubs, so I guess I thought this top was more in alignment with their thinking. As I got to the courtroom, however, I realized that the top was a little clingier than I'd remembered. I realized that my breasts have grown a cup size since this photo was taken. And I realized that I was barely keeping myself from popping out of the blouse. Okay, that embarassment that I feel when I think of Sid and Nancy? Worse! I kept thinking that if they selected me to be on the jury, I'd be a distraction to all parties - breasts just jumping right out into the courtroom. Fortunately, I wasn't selected and headed out the door on my merry way. That's when I heard him, singing down the hall behind me.
"Sexy woman. You are a bad girl." The tune was very melodic and sounded familiar, but I didn't recognize the song. (Have any of you heard these lyrics?) I slowed my step to listen and realized the man behind the voice was the only other person in the hallway with me. I assumed he could not be singing to me, as Stevie Nicks is not exactly a "bad girl" image, even as the breasts are bobbing up out of my clothes. But I resisted turning around, just in case.
After jury duty, I headed to a book signing with C. She gave me the once over.
"That shirt..." she paused, smiling.
"Oh, is it not appropriate for this event?" I got nervous again. This top sometimes makes me feel the epitome of self-conscious.
"It's a little revealing," C admitted. "But it's sexy." She leaned in to get a better view before kissing me.
Throughout the reading, there was a man standing across the room from me who kept staring at me. He gave me the willies. I crossed my arms over my chest to make sure he didn't get a view. He had stringy, greasy blonde hair and a bright red nose. I laughed to myself, "Lucky for him, it's coming onto Christmas."
All of a sudden, it occurred to me... All my political and philosophical views on prostitution suddenly came into question. If I were a prostitute, I might actually have to sleep with that sour, smelly-looking man. Yuck!
Oh, I still agree with Pat Califia in theory:
"A [slut] is someone men hate because she is potentially out of their control. If she has to pleasure many men briefly to escape belonging permanently to one particular man, she will. Whores... get men to part with some of their property instead of becoming property themselves... and are more interested in how thick a man's wallet is than the length of his dick. The whore does not sell her body. She sells her time. So she has time that is not for sale, that belongs to no one but herself. [As opposed to wives who work all day at their jobs and then come home and take care of the house for free, leaving no time for themselves.]" Pat Califia says more (this quote is from "Macho Sluts"), but I think I've made my point.
In theory, I have always appreciated Pat Califia's view of the sex industry. But suddenly, tonight, I realized for the first time why I couldn't be a prostitute. I mean, I already have a job I like, so I wasn't exactly considering switching careers. But for the first time, looking at this disheveled man who was drooling over me, I realized why I wasn't suited to that profession: I am too much of a snob to be a prostitute.
Comments:
I'll second the above comment. You look VERY HOT in that shirt. When I first saw the picture, I became excited that you had gone in for some pretty intense tattooing (LOL). I have gotten so into low-cut stuff (and short skirts) since I have been dating. One of the positive aspects of being fat is major cleavage, so I've been working it...and getting a lot of action in return :-)
"too much of a snob to be a prostituteThat's a really good way to put it. I've got nothing but respect for the sex industry and sex workers (In fact a couple of my very closest friends are sex workers), but you're right, that work takes a special kind of person. At least to do it well, and enjoy it.
thanks for your nice comments on my lil'ol' home on cyberspace... i am so in love with this city, and the art we see all around us. great post on the top... i think a lot of women (myself included) can relate indeed...
Hi. Thanks for all your comments over at indeterminacy. And quote an honor to be linked by you. Double thanks. Nice photo.
You're right, that blouse is somewhat reminiscent of Stevie Nicks, althought she usually chose white and you look much better than she does in such garb (era dependant, earlier is more like your body type than later). And the philosophy lesson about whore time is pretty insightful; when one thinks about where one's mind must be to have sex without 'making love' it does cause one to wonder how they get their heads there.
Holly Golightly: A snob and yet not too snobish to prostitute. :)
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Holly Golightly: A snob and yet not too snobish to prostitute. :)