Those who know me as well as anyone knows anyone, are aware of several quirks which I proudly possess and indulge in:
1/ I have a phobia of gifts. Not giving them, just receiving them.
2/ I have a phobia about using the telephone. I do, can and will, but I keep the conversations short and precise (This bit is irrelevant to this post, but in my mind it is connected to the point above, and is a grumble which is still rumbling inside of me).
3/ I have a phobia of shopping, and will go to creative lengths not to have to buy things, unless I have no choice because the thing is needed. Then it’s in, get thing, and out. I do pay for it before the out bit.
And a bunch of other stuff and nonsense.
Such as I often partake in the hobby known as grumbling. Mostly muttering under my breath about this and that. When asked what’s wrong or wtf am I going on about, I will laugh self consciously and say – Forsooth, twas just a spot of bother with a dash of blither.
Those who know me enjoy taking the piss out of my quirks, and I grumble delightedly when they do because affection and attention are gifts I do not have a phobia about receiving… except when I do.
My partner bought me the outfit in the photograph accompanying this post which Bob is so elegantly modeling. There was a lacy black dress too, but Bob is wider of girth than the elasticity of the fabric would allow for.
My partner is a fan of the most delectable fashion known as Steampunk, and he has been trying to convince me that my wardrobe should consist of such outfits as worn by kick ass Steampunk wenches. They are indeed impressive finery, but fiddly and complicated, lots of layers and things to tie and such, the sort of clothes which take hours to get into and hours to get out of. Though the boots are gorgeous! My partner did not get me any boots… grumble!
I used to dress fairly Steampunky in the late 80’s. But… that was then. I wore a lot of things then which I would not wear now and… wonder why I thought they were wearable then. Then was then. Now is now.
I told my partner that if he wanted me to wear such outfits, he’d have to buy them for me because I wouldn’t. And even then I might just leave them to be worn by the hangers. He gave me a look. I gave him a look. The looks met, danced a fandango, and that was that.
Then he surprised me with a gift of Steampunkery! For a photo shoot, he said. Hmmmm, I said. And then I added a polite – Thank you kindly, Sir! – to round the sentence off most spiffingly.
I need to buy some boots now, I muttered to myself, I do hate buying footwear, my feet do not enjoy being rubbed and squished and made to be contained by such contraptions of torture… yet boots are so fine to behold! What is a wench with phobias and grumbles to do!?!
*To be filed in the category – I’m glad I have such frivolous problems as these to distract me from things from which I need distracting.