So who again thought it would be a good thing for the school lesbian to do the costume measurements for the musical? I'd forgotten this part of spring. Where whatever passes for bodily fluids, be it sap or blood or oddly colored mucous, rises heatedly in whatever passes for veins in every creature that walks, hops, slithers, flies and grows in the earth, and I am jolted back into the reality of my body. I get cerebral in the winter and the spring returns me to my body in a gush of returning life. The instinct towards procreation, or in my case, towards certain other activities that, while not so inducive of babies, are certainly enjoyable. And because I'm the reliable theater girl, I get to do costume measurements. Not ordinarily a problem - whip some measuring tape up, down and around, scribble scribble, next. It was fine with the guys, and most of the girls, but one comes along and suddenly I'm fumble-fingered and flushing. What is it with me and friendly, androgynous blondes lately?
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