I don’t like dresses. Oh, lemme rephrase that. I like dresses; I just don’t like wearing them.

I like being able to move, bend, do normal everyday things without worry of private areas showing. When I was little and my mom dressed me in frilly dresses (because they were cute), it was different. I didn’t have anything developed to show. However, even then I would come in at the end of the day with my dress dirty and, at times, muddied. I am a tom-boy at heart.

However, I’ve begun realizing that I need to develop my femininity a bit more. At least enough that when I am in situations that require it, I feel comfortable enough to be ok.

So, last Thursday, I wore a dress. And not a cheater either; it has spaghetti straps, is (much) lower cut than I’m used to, and falls above my knees. Granted I wore shorts underneath so I could still do my daily movin’ and groovin’ but hey, it’s progress. And the biggest achievement was that I didn’t hate every second of it. I didn’t love it, mind you. But I didn’t hate it.

These are some pictures Michael (!) took that afternoon/evening when we went to the beach.

Next step: wearing make-up more frequently (read: not just on special occassions)