INCONCEIVABLY BLONDE....

Wave after waves whip back, flip over and over, and crash out on the shore, battered, beaten, and sore-- unable to take any more. Gradually, gingerly wash away the cares of yesterday, and bathe your feet, your mind, your soul in the cool possibility of tomorrow. Lapping away sorrow and pain, allowing you to being again, savoring the new-- if only for a few brief moments-- that only YOU get to feel, get to taste, get to know the wet wearing down the old, while soaking up the yet-to-be. Can't you see the point of it all right now? There! Out there , glistening in the shimmering, off in the distance as the swirling ripples bubble and foam, draping your toes in the ebb and flows of everyday woes, drift off with the seaweed. Roaming the currents, unhurried, slowed by bits of broken bottles tangled, intertwined amidst frayed rope swaying to and fro, calling, begging sweetly to the soft sand to splay,frolic and bask in the warmth that comes ...

I did it again. Yes, ma’am, I sure did. Left the house again without my face on. Not quite like getting my game on, but a little like putting war paint on. Gearing up, getting ready for battle for the day, to face the world, dare it to squint, to smirk, to bat an eye at me the wrong way-- nuh uh, no way! Not today…. You heard me, I said “face-free,” that means no spackle, no cream, no base, no powder no shadow or dream of what I seemed to be, only yesterday-- just what I am.  And what is that? Well? I'm waiting.... Am I a woman, muse, wife, daughter, deep thinker, ruse to rile you up at night, unsung super heroine, a closet comedienne, professional picture- messer-upper? Voila—c’est moi!! Good enough to drive to work without accident or incident, unless you count the lookers-on who seemed to part the waters, so to speak, as I dared to bare all.  Of my face, that is. Nice try, though…. What, no cat calls? So!?  W...