THE FABRIC STORE
Who goes to the fabric store? Soccer moms in need of some batting to give that gingham goose by the front entry...nay..."foyer" some chubbiness befitting a goose. Or maybe the mother and daughter team trying desperately to bond via the patterns of Simplicity,with mom thinking of the manhattans to come and daughter thinking of the boyfriends to come...in places mom wouldn't like. Or maybe the fat couple, dressed in jungle patterns and loud hawiian shirts like people would mistake the girth for a seductive, tropical ilse...sorry..it's not working...you're tropical but still fat...give up and start exercising.
They were all there, and all staring at me...looking at the buttons.I was shopping for buttons for a shirt recently ressurrected from the grave sans it's buttons.I thought dice buttons would look cool and went in search of said buttons.
I landed at the fabric store nearest my house and found my buttons...very cool buttons by the way...but the stares...They were staring at me like I was from another planet.
To them I am outwardly a freak...a heavily tattooed,00 plugged ears freak.
They don't know who I am...my visage frightens and confuses them...they wonder why I am in the fabric store...I will be the topic of conversation at dinners and pentecostal prayer meetings for days to come...that pathetic soul covered in sin. I just needed some buttons.
And that's the problem...
They see me as who they think I am...I see them for what they are.