mythopoeics

So... work today was interesting. Every time I tried to gather ingredients to make something they turned into flowers. And not like, pretty flowers either. Nope, they were drooping daisies. And they got everywhere. Long story short, my manager told me to take some time off so I don't accidentally bake petals into scones.

It kept happening too. Like when I tried to feed the kitties. And on the bus. I'm almost afraid to change my clothes, but I'll do it. Showering might be weird, though.

Ah, so, look. I, well, I feel like I am interrupting something here. Something odd, really. But I am only here because my cousin would not stop pestering sending me these invites.

He made me do it, I swear.

For a first post, is it acceptable to wax lyrical about a beautiful merino-silk blend I laid hands on today? If not, too bad. I was always much better at talking about wool than about myself.

I regret nothing.

Beauty is something ever changing. They say someone has 'classic' looks or maybe someone's looks are narrowed down to their background. And then it's what attracts us. Beautiful bone structure, graceful movement. Perfect skin and pearly white teeth. That's typical. Perhaps some don't love a well-proportioned body, maybe they like someone more skin and bones. Maybe someone likes another more fleshy, something to really be able to touch without the fear of hurting them.

What is beauty to you? Is it a man with perfect broad shoulders and a bit of scruff on his face? A woman with an hourglass figure? Do you prefer someone more androgynous? Someone a certain age? A certain colouring? Or do you not even care and only want someone for what they have inside? That their true beauty lies in their nature and you're not at all superficial? I'd normally call bullshit on anyone who thinks looks don't matter even one percent but considering blind people have a sense of beauty of their own...well. You had better be nearly blind. Otherwise I will call bullshit.

That on the side, I'm going to indulge myself in doing a shoot again. My favourite photographer won't stop begging. And if anyone thinks my age could be a roadblock, then you don't know the power of my breasts of true beauty.

And my breasts.

Anyway, I need to leave Sophie with one of my lovely relations because she's developed quite a temper...again. I can't take her with me this weekend. Not Agravaine, until he's come down some throat-related issue that prevents him from swearing every few seconds. I do love you, my child, but you have a filthy tongue unsuitable for a child's ears.