I finally did it. I cleaned out a section of my closet to put up the maternity clothes (up til now, they've been sitting in a hamper). As I'm taking each hoochie shirt off it's hanger, memories of bar/club hopping came racing into my head. Hm, this green wrap that can't be worn with a bra. I remember the comments from the girls about what a slut I am. Haha. Ooh. I love this red top. I've worn it to every opening of a new club. Definitely my lucky top. Ah. Yes. The black, cowl neck, halter top. I wore that on my first date with BWB. We made out in this top.
The more shirts I pulled, the sadder I got. I finally broke down and cried for 30 minutes. Don't get me wrong, I am happy to leave the uncertain 20's behind. I am thrilled to be married to a wonderful guy and I am ecstatic about Caleb. But a part of me misses that girl. The care-free, independent, will do any dare girl. BWB seems to think that I shouldn't throw the tops away and that I could wear them again. What? Where would I wear them to? Caleb's teacher-parent conference? His recital? The PTA meetings? Besides, I look down and mock women who have kids and still dress like they're single. There's a difference between sexy and old whore, people. Demi Moore is sexy, someone I want to emulate. Pamela Anderson is an old whore, NOT someone I want to emulate.
Maybe I'll keep them and wear them for Craig. I'll be his old whore.
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