Lily Bloom in Last of the Summer Whine
Should I Use My Period as an Excuse?
My period tracker app has become a tool for vindication. Were today’s tears justified or irrational? CLUE can tell me! When I’m weeping on the tube, I can neatly count the days until my hormones should recalibrate. All my monthly emotions are still me so need I apologise to those around me that it’s just PMS? I typically shy away from anger so perhaps the universe occasionally deserves to see me fuming.
Am I A Copycat?
I mean, maybe? Can you unknowingly be a copycat? When does a homage become a copy? How much personal flair makes a copy acceptable? I try not to give it too much thought, to make what I like and stay off social media whilst conceptualising. However, there’s comfort in knowing a million incredible images have been made before and will be again.
Why Can’t I Eat Alone?
For most of my youth I had trouble even ordering food when eating out. I’d stutter, order salad and hope the waiter thought it meant I was on a diet. It’s ludicrous to me now, but the hangover from that is me finding the thought of solo dining mortifying. Deep down I know it’s glamorous to confidently utter, “table for one, please,” but I can’t quite bring myself to do it.
Would I Look Sexier with Big Tits?
My B-cup handfuls are fine. I’ve had no complaints. However, there’s a niggle in the back of my brain: what if you had DD fantasy tits? Elvira tits? Anna Nicole Smith tits? The truth is that the bouncer to the sex appeal club isn’t checking bras. Sex appeal is probably not in the tit of the beholder but I can’t help wondering.
Do I Need a Nose Job?
I’ve given myself the task of learning to love the “bad” side of my face. The side only made “bad” by the roundness of my nose. It’s my mother’s nose, a nose I loved on her, one which shows our ancestry. I don’t take saying I’d want to shave bits off it lightly. I know it gives my face character, but there are days where I’d just love a little Lana Del Rey ski slope.
Should I Become a Gym Person?
I’ve got all the gear and no idea, but you’ve got to start somewhere. A mixture of fear and laziness keep me from reaching Nataliya Kuznetsova levels of gym enlightenment. I know my organs would thank me for a heart-pounding treadmill sesh followed by some squats but urgh. I really shouldn’t be turning down free endorphins.
Why Can’t I Be More Assertive?
I know what I want but I can’t bloody ask for it. I never want others to feel that I’m “too much”. I’m even passive with those closest to me who would take no offence, even if I told them to fuck off. I love providing for people so why should I deny others the pleasure of providing for me?
Words and Images: Lily Bloom