I have a difficult relationship with rules.
If the danger (and it has to be danger) is not explained in a way that makes sense, my brain gives instructions to my body to break those rules.
If the danger is explained, but is just unconvincing, the same thing happens.
Someone told me recently that it is important for a woman my age (I know, right? GASP! I don’t refer to your age, don’t mention mine!) must dress a certain way.
Look, I wasn’t going to wear skinny jeans. I happen to think that blood circulation is important. I’m not gifted with a butt cleavage even though I’m a proud card carrying member of the IBT (itty bitty titty) Crew. I don’t let it all hang out. But please don’t tell me to shop for Chanel suits. Lemme wear my frills and bows. Don’t give me rules.
I’mma have to start going out like this:
Don’t mess wit me!
