Feeling Loose and Random on Our Nation's Birthday

1. Speaking of birthdays, thanks to all for the birthday wishes and goodies. As a result, for the most part it's been a Very Eddie Weekend. You know, do earwigs make chutney, Mrs. Badcrumble? I have no idea.

2. Reasons why sometimes it's nice to be me. Today, after curtailing the futile search for a bathing suit (okay, had I been serious about it I would have done it earlier and not on the fourth), I decided to pull out two of the three pieces of The Bathing Suit of Lily's Insecurities and put them on. I went with the "showing skin and looking boyish" look instead of the "covered up and looking 85 and boyish" look. I went downstairs to the pool in my building, which I have never been in. Some advantages to living in a geriatric building -- the pool is seriously heated, and even with the "showing skin and boyish" look, even I have to admit I looked a damn sight better than the rest of the people lurking around the pool. I get in, do my laps, and then get out and decide to lay out in the sun for about half an hour. Fifteen minutes front, fifteen minutes on the back. I head upstairs and....voila! Thanks to my lovely Mediterranean heritage, I have a nice base tan and I'm done for the year if I choose to be, because I don't actually like tanning. No pink, no burns, minimal tan lines. I do feel for all you fair skinned types.

3. The Women's Apparel Industry IS Insane. So last night, after returning from another birthday dinner (Yummy tuna at Legal Sea Foods, which has the best sugar-free chocolate mousse -- it's one of the two restaurants where I can have dessert -- yay!), I went back to cleaning out the closets again. Now, I know I'm not insane -- at the moment I'm about five pounds down from my weight in high school. However, in high school I was a size 8-10. Now, for the most part I go into stores and I'm trying on 2-4. But I figured that maybe I weighed more than I remembered in high school, or that Pilates had done that "muscle weighs more than fat" job, so I'm smaller. In the back of the closet was....my prom dress. Yes, I still have it. However, even I admit that it was fairly sophisticated for a high school prom dress -- I didn't buy it in the prom section, but the evening section. It's a cream-colored tea-length dress with a silk bodice and three-tiered crocheted lace skirt with lace elbow length sleeves with a satin cummerbund cinching the waist. It's still a pretty nice looking dress. In fact, one of the reasons I kept it all these years is that it looks like a relatively informal wedding dress. I have always hated weddings, or at least the idea of having to be a participant in one, and part of me thinks that it would be really cool to run away and get married in my prom dress. It has a ring to it -- it's about as anti-bridezilla as one can get. So it sits in the back of the closet. It hasn't quite Havershammed yet, but it's getting there. But the point of this section was that of course, what I did last night was try it on. It still fits pretty well. If I were buying it today, I would probably have bought it one size down, but for the most part it fit. Could be nipped in a little at the waist and sides. So I dig around the inside and look for the tag. "Size 10". What the hell are they doing? No wonder we're all insane about body image. You don't know what the heck size you are and you're shooting for, as everything changes all the time. You can feel good or bad by the number on the tag, although you stay the same size. I think Eddie's got it right -- let's go for "total clothing rights for all", starting with a unified sizing system. Along the lines of Garanimals -- forget the damn numbers, I want to maintain "The Monkey". Occasionally, I might have to move to "The Antelope", but I'm trying to maintain "Monkey".

Happy fourth, y'all.