Dead Women Don’t Wear Girdles…

I came up with this title…and I love it…I just can’t figure out quite what to do with it…it might help if I’d seen the movie that gave me the inspiration…but…I didn’t…

So…I’m on my own…I keep getting ideas…but they seem morbid…and perhaps insensitive…although…that would never be my intent…I’ll tread lightly…

Okay…since there are no accidents…this popped into my head for a reason…something I need to learn…something I need to say…or…I’ve finally lost that one lone marble that’s been rolling around in my head all these years…

I’m gonna go with something I need to learn…which means it will also get said…

Quit rolling your eyes…guess we know which one you think…geez…

I keep thinking…when I am a corpse…will I ask the undertaker…does this casket make me look fat…do you think you could squeeze me into a smaller size…maybe something in black…

I know…that’s irreverent…I suppose the question I am asking myself…is…am I willing to go to the grave worrying about what other people think of me…

And the answer is…I hope not…

I hope I realize that my life is bigger and fuller than that…I hope that I appreciate who I am and what I do…I hope that I realize I am more than someone else’s opinion of me…more than my size…more than my wardrobe…more than my relationships…more than my job…and even more than my writing…I hope I realize that I am all of that...and more...

I hope that I will not squeeze into a symbolic girdle even one day…ever again…

And that when I do get to that undertaker…I will only ask…do you know what an awesome life I had…it was full…it was fun…you may need a bigger casket to fit it all in...maybe something in lime green and flamingo pink…

Jane