Nevergirl’s

Some days, I think I want to live in a farm.

We’ll raise poultry, wash clothes by the river, and till the earth with the help of a trusty carabao. I’ll be that little woman who can whip up meals for an entire barrio in record time, wash stains off clothes so well she deserves her own soap commercial, and work on a garden overflowing with hydrangea, roses, and sunflowers when she’s not busy taking care of the kids or bringing the husband lunch.

Then, I catch sight of the TV, remember that I love movie marathons too much to give them up, and quickly chalk off wanting to live in a farm as one of those things better left done in daydreams. I doubt farm life includes owning a laptop or an ipod touch nano, or most important of all, an aircon.

I can’t make up my mind which one I want more: weight loss or serenity. I can just hear the people who visit this site groaning and clucking and throwing up their hands in exasperation. Serenity versus weight loss? Is that girl crazy?

Don’t get me wrong. I think serenity is a lovely virtue; with it, I can go through life impervious to upsets big and small. However, serenity is not visible and because I mostly stay home, I rarely get upset anymore. I can’t even remember the last time I worried or obsessed over anything, unless obsessing over the dollar to peso conversion counts. So for now, I think I may have to pick weight loss over serenity and appetite suppressants over peace of mind. My mind’s at peace already; if it gets anymore peaceful, it would go on coma!

So yes, send me a 10-pound weight drop this month, big guy up there, pretty please? And send it just before Friday so I’ll have just enough time to find a dress I can wear to Iris’ wedding. And no, that’s not this plus size dress I am desperately considering gaining truckloads of weight for just because I am in love with the color and the patterns. After that, you can express mail me a big wake-up call to stop falling in love with dresses that are two sizes too small.

I’ve never been one to follow trends when it comes to fashion. I wear what I wear because I like it, because it makes me happy. As a matter of fact, I’ve lost count of the times I changed clothes at the last minute all because what I’m wearing doesn’t cheer me up like I want it to, like it’s supposed to. (But no, I’ve never bought ski pants at PeterGlenn.com yet, thank God, even though I itch to because if there’s one thing I am, at least, it’s unwilling to die from dehydration in the tropics!)

So no, sexy clothes are not run of the mill for me. I used to go everywhere in shorts, sweatpants, and shirts so baggy they’ll fit two of me. Then I realized dressing up is fun. That started the era of dresses and frilly tops and when I feel like it, sexy clothing. Dressed to the nines or not, though, I stick to the same rule: I wear what I like, what I’d be okay caught dead wearing.

Of course, I still look like a potato sack at home, garbed in the hub’s shirts. But that’s okay. That’s comfort dressing inside one’s comfort zone. I make an effort not to look grubby when I’m out. After all, to borrow from Coco Chanel, you never know when you’d “have a date with destiny. And it’s best to be as pretty as possible for destiny.”