Pretty makes me Happy.
One more of my 'starter' stories with just 500-words-of-text.
Do we need the other versions of the title – Sleazy, Dopey, Sleepy, Fearful, Nasty & Dick or whatever they might be.
It’s kind of tricky to say EXACTLY what I want. Let’s start with some facts. I’m NOT a dwarf. I’m nearly 6 foot tall, middle-weight, middle-this, middle-that. I feel that I’m relatively normal but that doesn’t mean a lot these days.
Most times I’m part of the ‘silent majority’ but when you look at anybody so-called ‘average’ – when you examine deeper and deeper – nothing hits the average on any graph or listing.
Rugby – a minority sport; Author – very minority; published author – not by this name; meat-eater – probably a majority; married, mildly Christian, white (a majority in some areas) and so on.
White-wise I was told about the ‘onion’ format of many minorities – white – majority in Europe but minority planetwide. Christian-Catholic – majority in the Falls Road in Belfast, minority in Belfast, majority in Ireland, minority in the UK, majority in Europe, minority planetwide and so on. Every, and I mean every, category or group into which you think you fit is from some angle a minority and from another view possibly a majority.
But why do I use the word ‘pretty’ – because ONE of the things I like, love, want, need to do is wear pretty clothes. And I can’t think of a single piece of male clothing that I can call ‘pretty’. Maybe I saw a waistcoat once or twice that was stylish, gorgeous, fabulous, colourful, striking – all words that might attach to ‘pretty’ – but not for the typical male.
But I want more. MORE.
I want to be able to wear anything, everything that is NOT dark, dingy, drab, boring, dull, blue, brown, black, hard, harsh, rough, rugged and oozing testosterone. They just don’t do anything for me – apart from clothe my nakedness. And I could do that with a sack.
But I want a sack that’s pretty. Soft, slick, slidy, smooth silky-satiny-lovely and all the pretty, lovely, luscious materials and colours that have become the preserve of women.
Look at the history of fashion – it never used to be the women who had the fancy, the pretty, the expensive. At their best, they were a mere adjunct of the male. He wore the lace, the feathers, the flounces, the furbelows, the frills and even the fripperies. Some of the more grotesque female costumes – they all had a purpose. To demonstrate the riches and power of the male and enfeeble his adorned popinjay. Thus the hooped bustle, farthingale and exaggerated crinoline. The farthingales of Elizabeth’s court were so large that some lady courtiers had to sit on the rash-mat flooring.
Perhaps that was an unnecessary digression – because women often have had the poor end of the deal. But, so what. NOW, it is the women of the western world who can flaunt and flourish in the widest variety of costume.
Males CAN dress gorgeously – either as a rich eccentric or as a perverted(!!) Crossdresser. That’s me. Pretty please.
