Somebody up there has a seriously wierd sense of humour giving an introverted depressive like me blonde hair, blue eyes and a well-endowed chest. (Oh, and to cap it all, I have B+ blood – be positive, ha bloody ha, very funny I’m sure.) If you got it, flaunt it, they all say. But however my outside form may present to the world, my inside always remains far more fragile than flamboyant.
When people tell me to ‘be myself’ they usually mean ‘live up to our blondes-have-more-fun party-girl expectation’ rather than my preferred ‘curl up quietly on the sofa in your pyjamas with only a cup of tea and a good book for company’ way of being. The amount of times over my lifetime that various people in varying situations have labelled me ‘reserved’, and have complained disappointingly to my face ‘Awww… you’re no fun…’
The thing is, I don’t want to have to wear deliberately frumpy clothes to hide my somewhat voluptuous figure, and I really don’t like the restrictive feeling of things being buttoned up tight to my neck. So if a glimpse of my cleavage is on show, if my jeans sit comfortably snug across my curvaceous bum, if my skirt hemline sometimes sits above my knee, don’t necessarily assume I’m nothing more than a dumb blonde.
Sometimes I feel a little bit like Jesssica Rabbit in ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit’, who reminds Eddie Valiant that she’s not bad, she was just drawn that way. Not because I’ve ever looked in any way as gorgeously drop-dead sexy as Jessica, but because the outward perception of her inward character due simply to visual expectation resonates deeply with me. I guess underneath it all I’m just not a flaunting it kind of girl… 🙂