Uninspired is all about being yourself.
You and me- we’re all about finding a balance between being a responsible, practical adult, and still celebrating our passions. But in this post, we’re going to talk about another reason why being yourself is always the best option.
I did a writing prompt a few years ago for a writing class about an article of clothing. That was it. Write about an article of clothing. While I was sitting in class, I was thinking about how ridiculous of a prompt it was. I love my clothes, but what special meaning could they have that would spark a whole story?
Obviously, since you all are here, you know I wasn’t wondering for very long. I got back to my dorm that afternoon, and put on my favorite sweatshirt. I won’t get into detail about it, because the story will do that, but it’s my favorite. At that point, just like when I bought it, it fit me the way it was supposed to. However, that hadn’t always been the case. There was a point when I was absolutely drowning in it, so much so that it almost wasn’t even comfortable anymore. Of course, when I thought of this, I knew what I wanted to write about.
And, since you’re so smart, you probably guessed that the change in how my sweatshirt fit me had to do with an effort I was making for a guy. I came across it the other day, and I wanted to share it with you all. Read on, and see why I did what I did, and how it backfired on me in a major way.
Prompt: write about an article of clothing that holds special significance for you.
It’s a medium.
I’m not a medium; I’m a small, headed into extra-small territory. And when I wear it, I drown in it, but I still wear it all the time.
It’s a dark gray sweatshirt. Not a hoodie– it’s actually supposed to casually slide off one shoulder. Mine slides off both, and I clutch the ends of the sleeves and cross my arms over my chest to hold it up. It’s soft like a hoodie though. It’s soft like a boyfriend sweatshirt, but unfortunately that’s not what it is. I got it on the boardwalk in Ocean City, at one of those places where you buy a personalized iron-on. At the time, I was a medium.
The iron-on I chose had white letters, and a pink outline of a seagull. It said “Ocean City Maryland, est. 1873” in a chaotic, friendly-looking cursive. It reminded me of the city itself: friendly, comfortable, and a little chaotic. I brought it back to school with me, and wore it the night in February that Tom came over for the first time.
“I’ve never liked a girl who didn’t like sports. I’ve only really been with girls who had like, you know, an athletic body.”
He kissed me anyway. Even though my stomach was soft, my thighs touched. He tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt, asking me to let him take it off, but I nudged his hand away. Subtly. It was so subtle. But he didn’t try again.
I joined a gym in the summer so when we got back to school, I could surprise him with a slimmer body. Day in and day out, I spent longer and longer intervals on the treadmill. Watching a 25 minute TV show on my phone, a 45 minute TV show, a movie. People say working out should boost your mood, but I felt drained. Skinny, and happy about being skinny, but not happy, period.
On a night in mid-August, two weeks before we would see each other again, he said goodnight to me, but then tweeted about being stressed. I made the mistake of caring, when he obviously did not care to be subtle.
I asked, and he told me. He wasn’t attracted to me. I was 100 pounds soaking wet for the wrong reasons, and he didn’t care, didn’t want me either way.
I got out of bed, put on the sweatshirt, and went to the gym.
Did you like this writing prompt? Check out some other creative writing pieces I’ve done for the blog.