Some positive strides have been made in conquering my recent fear. [Very brief recap: hurricane, shelter, disapproving townsfolk, pitchforks… well, maybe no pitchforks].The church girls called me to have lunch. Since I quit the church they hadn’t seen me and wanted to catch up. I felt this would be a good time to break my self-imposed isolation. Driving around without getting out of the car is not mingling heehee.
During the meal they were so sympathetic. I couldn’t figure out why until they told me. The very next weekend after I refused to return to help the priest out he gave yet another homily, a tirade really, about us men-in-dresses. This time he used my fucking name as an example of someone infiltrating decent society. Infiltrating. I thought I was attending a church service. My friends had wanted to call to commiserate but felt bullied so didn’t. This was a make-up lunch. I felt sorry for them. They felt so bad about something that wasn’t their problem at all. They shouldn’t have.
V didn’t attend. It’s definitely over. I understand. I surprised her with my little friend. Lesbians don’t like surprises like that LOL.
After that lunch we did a little shopping the old style way… wandering the aisles poking and prodding at the goods. I was so happy about being out I bought some new shoes. A boot with two-inch heels, zipper along the outside. And some new leggings.
All in all, it was a good day.
I’ve begun to reevaluate my opinion of men. I won’t say why, specifically, but I believe I’ve taken my horrid experiences and previous bad relationships and applied them to all men. That’s wrong. That’s painting with too broad a brush. There are sweet, gentle caring men, men who wouldn’t ever think of hurting me. I just have to get to know them before ever putting myself in a compromising position. Why, I believe I may have grown, dear readers.