I did it. My younger husband, or shall I say, my husband who is a younger man, took me out for dinner. Or shall I say I took him out? Anyway, I did it.
I wore my halter top in public.
I paired it with a high-waisted skirt that I bought while thrifting with a dear friend earlier this week. The skirt gave me a just a touch of modesty (personal security, more accurately stated).
On the way out of the restaurant, we ran into someone we'd just met the day prior. A friend of an acquaintance. We stopped by her table, where she sat with two of her friends. I used my shoulder bag to screen my bare midriff which was at their eye level. My bag was heavy with stuff and self-consciousness. So, I let the bag drift down, and let my belly full of burger and fries stare right back. It was work for me.
Before leaving, I stopped in the bathroom and took a pee. As I washed my hands, I brushed the back of my skirt. It was partially hitched in my underwear, which was a pretty cheeky pair of drawers. Remember, I was on a rare date with my husband.
I told him about my close call, he shrugged. It would have been fine with him, it seemed. I would have wanted a year long break from the restaurant had I mooned the place.
Outside, I adjusted my skirt again. Just to make sure. I stretched, revealing my abdomen to passing traffic. I felt good. I embraced my soft, warm husband, and felt good.
Good old halter top. I think you broke me in.
Why do I write all this down? Well, partly because it is amusing. Partly because it is embarrassing. I am self-conscious. I am awkward. Writing, confessing, admitting makes embarrassing experiences entirely less embarrassing. Once those experiences are here and written, I briefly own them. I then send them out into the ether where they can leave me be.
Why do I make photographs of this (or ask my husband to make photographs)? It's part of facing who I am and what I look like. And being ok with it.
Farewell, embarrassment! Have a great trip! See you next time! I know you'll be back!