I’m sitting in my living room in one of my beloved Hello Kitty t-shirts and a pair of colorful knee socks, eating peanut butter out of an almost empty jar with a spoon; I am finding that this is one of the many joys of living alone.
Let me interject here that I don’t care that I’m almost 42 and still wearing Hello Kitty – I’ll rock the shit out of it at any age thank-you-very-much. I’m not going to make excuses for wearing things that are, as Mom-ster would say, too young for me.
I remember when I had a booth at the flea market in the next room down from her and I would meet people who knew her. There was one woman who I thought was pretty fucking cool. She was in her mid-forties and dressed like one of the Oberlin College kids – very eclectic and free. Her and I connected instantly and always talked up a storm when she’d show up at my booth.
Once she’d leave, Mom-ster would always come over and tell me to not get too close to her because something was wrong with her. Of course one day I questioned her about what was so wrong with this obviously cool chick.
According to Mom-ster, the “something wrong” was that she still dressed like a college student and obviously never developed her own style and grew up. I just shook my head and walked away.
I am that lady today.
Fuck Mom-ster and everyone else that gives me funny looks when I am wearing my “young” clothes or funky socks. Yeah, I see the looks that strangers sometimes give me… I just laugh and keep walking.
The only tags they put on clothes are size tags, and most of the time I don’t even pay attention to those and cut them out. I don’t care if a piece of clothing says size M or 5x – if it fits and I like it, I will rock the shit out of it. Same thing if it is Hello Kitty, Powerpuff Girls or Batman. There are no age tags on clothes and I’m not going to act as if there were.
I refuse to be defined by a size or an age group restriction.
So here I sit writing as my Pandora Peter Murphy station plays over the TV. In addition to my Hello Kitty shirt and crazy socks, my hair is also completely disheveled – I still have bed head. No makeup on either. The only productive things I have done today are to wash my face, brush my teeth and feed my cats.
I scrape the last bits of peanut butter from the jar and finish my glass of iced tea. Sure, I’m not living in the best apartment around, but I am in the town I love, and I am alone.
I could get used to this living alone thing… I am alone but not lonely – it’s taken me a long time to get here, I intend to stay a while.
This is freedom. This is bliss. This is my life.