The adventures of Cece and the Diva!

Warning:

If you can only refer to a vagina as a hoo-ha, va-jay-jay or pussy, you might find this blog post a tad confronting. I highly recommend heeding the wise words of Hermione Granger, that fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself. Then say vagina. Then read my post.

Just recently, I embarked on an exciting new adventure. I bought a menstrual cup! For those of you who don’t know what that is it’s basically a little rubber cup that you put into your vagina to catch blood.

Because I am a fan of storytelling, and because I believe honest and open communication is the key to creating a healthy society, I’ve decided to share my experience of using the cup.

I first heard about a menstrual cup when I was about 14, I remember someone describing to me how it worked to which my response was a whole lotta NOPE!

More recently it started popping up on the internet so I started thinking about it again (well done profiling algorithms, you got me). I was at brunch one day with a good friend and she was talking about how she noticed a significant increase in her house’s output of waste as a result of using pads and tampons so she was exploring the idea of a menstrual cup.

The environmental issue struck a chord with me, and I was feeling adventurous so I went home and bought one online before I could second guess myself.

It came in the mail promptly, and I was left to await my next period. And wait. And wait. And wait. And my purchase of the Diva Cup™ happened to coincide with the longest gap between periods I have had in years. Seriously, I found myself wanting to ask random men in my life if we’d had unprotected sex and I just hadn’t noticed. How sexually active women aren’t fraught with crippling anxiety every single month is beyond me. I digress.

About a day before my period finally came I got a bit impatient and figured i’d try it out anyway, even though I wasn’t bleeding. Got it in fine, all went well. I started having flashbacks to the first time I ever had my period when I decided to go hard or go home and start out with a tampon. The feeling of smug superiority I had when I realised tampons were easy to use was again visible in my reaction to getting the menstrual cup in.

I got it in. getting it out was a different story. Rather than read the instructions like a pleb, or, you know, sensible human being doing something for the first time, I decided to just do what seemed right and pull. It was not right. It was SO NOT RIGHT. If sport, horseback riding and super jumbo tampons had not yet broken my hymen, I can say with certainty that the menstrual cup got the job done. Feeling a bit like a fool for actively traumatising my poor vagina just days before my period, I set the cup aside and continued to wait impatiently.

Huzzah! The day finally came. I washed, squished and shoved just like the instructions said (yes I went back for them, pride and stupidity have their limits for everyone).

Everything was dandy. I went about my daily business and resisted the urge to tell everyone I talked to that I was using a menstrual cup for the first time which is SO exciting!

Time came that it seemed reasonable to take it out, and I was anxious to improve my technique. I gathered all the knowledge I had accrued, which in addition to instruction reading included a bar conversation with my auntie and a couple of reassuring instructions I caught from my sister during one of my period pain meltdowns.

Apparently it’s important to break the seal by putting your fingers up inside and squeezing the cup together. Then you have to pull it out and if, like me, you haven’t mastered that kind of unique digital dexterity, you may need help from your second hand in grabbing nub. I include these details only because if someone else is trying it for the first time, I want them to know that they aren’t the first person to feel as if they are dramatically midwifing their own little rubber baby.

The removal was a success and after a few days I started to get the hang of it. So now I know it, what do I think about this new luxury item?

Well I have always been a tampon girl. Like, captain-of-team-tampon-convert-from -day-one-hiss-when-I-see-pads kind of a tampon girl. So having things go inside me wasn’t a new experience.

What surprised me most about the cup is how much more in sync I felt with my body. I think it had something to do with the daily wrestles I had with my vagina trying to extract the darn thing. It was a strange and fun experience learning to communicate with my body.

The other main thing I got from the experience was noticing how much less waste there was and, despite my unrelenting use of a clothes dryer, I am an environmentalist at heart.

So the verdict is that I am going to stick with the cup, at least for a few more cycles, and I highly recommend people give it a try, if for no other reason than maybe you will also find yourself talking reassuringly to your own vagina in the vain hope that it won’t sense your anxiety and freak the fuck out.  If you guys do it too, I won’t feel as weird.

Go team Diva cup!

"think about puppies and Richmond"

It's late. I've just snuggled down into my nice warm bed after an evening of making burgers for a bustling Chapel St and I am feeling pretty good about life. Then it happens.

A single shot rings out through the night, the noise echoing and bouncing off the buildings around my house.

In the 3 seconds that followed that moment I went from calmly going to sleep to almost crying, feeling like shaky jelly and breathing rapidly and shallowly. The ONLY thing I can think is that somebody just got shot. 

Just earlier, as I had been walking home, I had seen some people loitering for an oddly long amount of time on my street, at the time I was able to dismiss it.

As I heard what I only assumed could be a gunshot, my anxiety helpfully jumped to one conclusion; The loitering men had been waiting for someone. That someone had arrived. That someone had died. 

Deep down I knew that there was a chance that my anxiety might be in the drivers seat, but I was pretty convinced that my assessment was spot on.

Now I was faced with a dilemma! If I get up and look out my window and it was just my anxiety, then I have let my anxiety best me.

If I look out my window and I was right, then I will be faced with one of my worst nightmares, dealing with finding a dead body.

If I don't look out the window and I was right, then I have relinquished an opportunity to potentially save someones life, and I will wake up the next morning to discover my suspicions were true and I slept the whole night while they lay out there.

By this point I am panicking. If I get up, I lose, if I stay in bed, I lose. The only hope I had was to stay in bed and somehow successfully determine that my anxiety was in control and there was no dead body.

Anxiety is a monster, it can simultaneously convince me that my thoughts are reality but fill me with shame at the thought of voicing those thoughts to someone else, because they are so obviously ridiculous.

My only chance to escape the drain of fearful panic that I was being sucked into was to just talk to someone in the hope that they could pull me out of the sink.

I have friend, he is one of my best friends. He has no time for crying and his preferred medicine is a teaspoon of cement. Although he cares and he really tries, I am not sure he has a full grasp on my 'anxiety thing.' But I trust him, and he was probably awake.

"All it takes is the sound of a single gunshot to send my joyfully dormant anxiety spiralling out of control." 

My message was dispatched to his phone and I was left shakily staring at the screen, praying that he was still awake. The response came almost immediately and it was just one sentence.

"It wasn't a gunshot."

With that one sentence he reached into the sink, grabbed my hand and pulled me out. The grip that anxiety had on my heart, my throat and my thoughts dissolved. 

Of course it wasn't a gunshot.

Anxiety is scary. It gets me from the inside. Sometimes its slow boils me. I'm fine and I'm fine and I'm fine and then I'm not and I realise that I haven't been fine in a long time. Sometimes, like tonight, it attacks me. It's an overwhelming assault and all the tools and strategies that I hold to deal with it clamour to the floor as I desperately try to pry its grip from my neck to keep breathing. I am so thankful that my friends and family hear me when I yell, or cry, or whisper, or silently wave for help. When I am not strong enough they help wrench away anxiety's control over me.

World Wizard Day

Its world autism day today! I like days like this because social media often becomes aswell with many and varied stories of autism. For most of the year I feel like the autism narrative is one working from a deficit model. That when we read about stories of achievement, success or hilarity, they are in spite of autism, or perhaps because of it.
On days like today, however, when we open ourselves up for a conversation about autism, so many more stories come flowing in and begin to chip away at the problematic assumptions that have collectively been made about people on the autism spectrum.

My sister is on the autism spectrum. I could talk for 87 hours about it. About the good things and the hard things, about how frustrating it can be and how wonderful she is.  sometimes I worry that all of these stories I have turn her into my aspie sister. She's not. She's my sister. And she has aspergers. But thats not everything.

I want to tell you a story, and I want a sentence that links it to what I have said. I can't think of a way to articulate it properly but it is along the lines of "lets celebrate world autism day by celebrating the people in our lives who are on the autism spectrum, but lets not celebrate their autism, lets just celebrate other randomly excellent or hilarious things about them." HA! I tricked myself into articulating it. Ok, story time..

Rewind the clock approximately 15 years and one day. The Gun* and I share a bedroom. Its not ideal. She is on the brink of puberty and I am a repulsively and unapologetically filthy child.
As a child I was a spectacularly deep sleeper. Alarm clocks had no power over me, their pathetic beeping attempts to wake me were just incorporated into my dreams as a siren or a bomb. Unfortunately, this deep sleeping also affected my ability to go to the toilet. Rather than wake up, I would simply recognise a need to pee and, in the course of my dream, find my way to a toilet to relieve myself. It was only once I realised that I couldn't hear the splash back of the toilet, and I was greeted with a warm sensation, that I would realise that I had yet again dream peed. It wasn't like I had no control, I would go to the toilet, I just wouldn't go to the actual toilet, and it was therein my problem lied**. Now, I'm not saying this happened all the time, but it definitely happened more than never. You can imagine the repulsion of my sister at having to share a room with not only her little sister, but her little sisters urine too.
So its April 1st at some point near the turn of the millennium. I wake up in the morning blissfully unaware of the culturally acceptable day long free pass for bullying that occurs annually. I get out of bed and resume frolicking in the loungroom. several minutes pass and I hear an almighty roar from the bedroom. The Gun is standing by my bed pointing an accusing finger at a wet patch in the middle and hurling a stream of disapproval. "thats DISGUSTING! I can't believe you wet the bed AGAIN! you are SO GROSS, when will you learn?!"
I am utterly bewildered. But I didn't wet the bed. My pants were dry and I didn't recall having gone to the toilet in my dream. Normally when I wet the bed I would wake up straight away and this time I had just gone about my day as normal. I voiced my confusion to the Gun, and she just responded with flawless logic. "The bed is wet, the bed is yours and you have previously wet the bed. Clearly, you wet the bed last night." I furiously patted myself down wondering how it was possible that my pants were still dry, but I couldn't argue with that logic so I just accepted it as fact. In that moment, if you had hooked me up to a lie detecter and asked me if I thought I had wet the bed, I would've said yes, and the machine would have believed me.
"AHAHAHA!! april fools! When you got out of bed I snuck into the kitchen and got a cup of water to pour onto your bed and you thought you wet the bed!"

The prank was well thought out and well acted out and Mum applauded her creativity and impeccable yet terrifying ability to gaslight people, however was unimpressed with the now wet mattress so the Gun had to drag the mattress out into the lounge room to air out and dry while I was sat down and explained what the heck aprils fools meant (and in hindsight it wouldn't've hurt to explain what gas lighting was while they were at it.)
It was by far the best April fools I have ever fallen victim to, rivalled only by this years prank. But thats a story for another time, maybe 15 years time.




*My sisters pseudonym. Named after the Flemington Bull action Rifle, which is too long to say.

**go back and finish the other story and then when your done come down and read this little tangent..
To this day whenever I go to the toilet either just before bed or having just woken up, I have a set of procedures in place to avoid accidentally using dream toilets. I am not allowed to pee with my eyes shut. I have to be able to feel something cold, whether its a tiled floor, or the outside of the toilet bowl. I have to be able to vividly recall my entire walk to the bathroom. I have to do all of these things before I start peeing, and if I can't do any ones of these things then I have to try and wake myself up before I am allowed to pee. It might sound crazy but the other day I was awake and I was about to go to the toilet and I thought "gee I don't really recall walking to the toilet. So I touched the outside of the porcelain bowl and it was WARM AND SOFT! I set off the alarm bells and awoke from a dream. thats right ladies and gentlemen, the system's in place for a reason and it is a good system because its been at least 10 years since i've wet the bed.

Can I pay less rent for my house's great location? I'm only allowed to appreciate it during the day.

"Women, if you want to be safe, stay at home. Except that you are more likely to be killed at home by someone who claims they love you, so don't stay at home. Make sure you don't have a boyfriend because he's the most likely person to kill you, but don't go out without your boyfriend because you need someone to protect you. 

Don't show too much skin or laugh too loud or dance too much, but come on love give us a smile. Carry your keys and your phone at all times and make sure you run far enough to burn off all those calories but don't do it in public and for gods sake don't run in shorts, that's just asking for trouble. Public transport is dangerous, but so are taxis and walking and driving on your own and did I mention that staying at home is really risky, so don't do any of those things ok?

Men, just carry on as you were, this is not your problem ok?" - Jane Gilmore 

Security footage is going to look odd in this laundromat

*Let's just all assume that I am aware of the myriad of privilege I am about to display.*

I have too many clothes. It's a problem that's been plaguing me recently because my room has been messy because there is physically not enough space for all the clothing- and I have the biggest room in the house!
I have tried sorting through my clothes and throwing away the stuff I don't wear or that I don't like, but I love it all and I wear it all!
Not to worry though, tonight I figured out the solution. I washed everything I owned, because procrastination, amirate?  (it took more than an hours pay at the laundromat)
When it came time to dry it, I flipped off the environment and decided to tumble dry it all. Here is where my ingenious plan comes into action..

I put the dryer on the hot setting and let the clothes participate in a survival of the fittest. If you can't handle the hot setting, you don't deserve to- nor will you probably stand up to the task of- being worn by me. this is where we separate the durable from the high maintenance, the long lasting from the once-offs, the worthy from the pathetic.

I am excited to see who makes the cut, and while I want them all to survive, I know there will be casualties.

Jenna marbles can drunk apply fake eyelashes better than I can sober.

Ok, so there is something that has really bothered me for awhile, and tonight I decided to try and photograph it out.

Every guy that I ever talk to says that they think women look better without make-up on.

First of all i'd like to start by acknowledging that I will not be addressing the larger issue that is guys assuming make-up is worn by women for the visual pleasure of men. Get me started on that at a later date.

Here is this particular issue I have with the above bolded statement. It's not true! they don't think women look better with no makeup on. They think women look better with jussstt enough makeup that they can't perceive it but it makes our skin lovely and smooth. This profoundly bothers me.
Maybe later i'll talk about the unachievable beauty standards of women, and the fact that we have to make it seem effortless, but for tonight I will leave you with two pictures: The first picture shows how guys want us to look versus the apparent monstrosity that is getting dolled up. The second picture is how I actually look without makeup on. Try and tell me I am hotter in the second picture. I dare you.
And someone please appreciate how well I drew that black line on my face with liquid eyeliner.

Don't stress, my self esteem hasn't taken a massive hit from these photos, nor do I think I should feel ashamed to leave the house looking like I do in the second picture.

Facebook, eh?

My Facebook makes me look so capable. According to Facebook I am smashing life. I have a great degree, I can make beautiful dresses, and take beautiful pictures. I travel, I’m funny, I’m quirky, I have a bustling social life and I don’t need no man except my football team. I make mistakes, sure, but my mistakes have no consequences, and they serve only as inspiration for hilarious anecdotes. Even my weaknesses, such as procrastinating, are humorously and creatively documented, and after all, I get HDs in the end.

All of these things are true, but Facebook gives me the toxic ability to filter what I show the world, so they only see the best side of me. Facebook sees that I have an amazing dad and we have a great relationship, it doesn’t see how profoundly bad I felt when I didn’t heed his advice.

Facebook sees a beautiful dress I made but doesn’t see that the reason I made it was because I wanted to distract myself from the fact that I skipped class because I couldn’t handle the pressure of going when I hadn’t done my readings.

Facebook sees a beautiful picture of me that I took during free time on a saturday afternoon but doesn’t see that it was only taken because I was home alone, and I had convinced myself that nobody wanted to spend time with me. It doesn’t see the 20 minutes I spent writing and rewriting the perfect caption for it. It doesn’t see me crying because I am lonely and I hate my need for external gratification and it doesn’t see the fact that every time someone likes my picture part of me tells me that I am wonderfully talented, part of me tells me that I am a pathetic piece of shit for needing attention and part of me feels a stab of guilt, because I know that my Facebook is a facade.

I want to be the best.

I am a perfectionist. I want to be an amazing photographer and I am terrified that the excitement I feel in my potential will prove too much pressure and I will stop enjoying this passion and focus on how I am not perfect. Speaking of not perfect,these deliciously overcooked strawberry spongecake butterflies are far from perfect but I love them anyway because they are beautiful and brightly coloured.

Auntie Allison

I have a problem that has been gnawing at me since I went to a funeral in year 12. Why do we wait until people have passed away to celebrate and talk about how wonderful they are and all the things we love about them. a few months ago I wrote a tribute to Barb when she passed away. I am not sure that Barb would have realised the extent to which she had an impact on my life and so it made me wonder, why cant I write a tribute to someone who is still alive? Today I went to the Camberwell Market with Allison, it was a really wonderful day and  as I was on the train home I was thinking about how much my relationship with Alli means to me so  I thought I would write it down now rather than wait 50 years and tell people at a pulpit.
Sorry that this is such a morbid beginning, enjoy!

Allison is an amazing aunty and an amazing person.
Allison has loved me unconditionally for as long as I can remember. there are so many things that  I remember loving about visiting Alli. she had a really cool hedge hog log at her door and she had a tiger that if you squeezed it hard enough then it would growl. The day that I finally had the strength to make that tiger growl was when I knew that  I has grown up, I was about 7. I loved that tiger because I loved Richmond. Alli also really loved that tiger and it always felt like a privilege being about to hug it. It was perhaps because she was usually so open to letting me play with things of hers that  I knew that if she said I wasn't to touch it, it really meant DONT TOUCH IT! to this day there are beautiful breakable balls with a finger sized hole in them sitting at her front door that I have never ever touched them even though and perhaps because I have always wanted nothing more than to stick a finger in the hole and swing the ball around until something goes wrong.
Alli got together with Gerry when I was little enough to idolise people who let me on their shoulders and Gerry became my favourite uncle and sidekick to my equal favourite auntie. there is a whole story about how much I love Gerry but that is for another time.
the really fantastic thing about my relationship with Alli is how effortlessly it changed as I grew up. she used to take me on adventures and show me Melbourne and now I can call her and take her on adventures to the Camberwell market. She has always treated me like an adult which meant that I could always meet her her at whatever point I was at. She has never shied away for challenging me on my beliefs and because of that I know what  I believe and why I believe it. Very few 14 year olds get challenged on why they shave their legs. I remember the feeling of pride when I successfully articulated to Alli why I chose to shave my legs, even though lots of my family didn't. she said 'good!' She doesn't care if my opinions aren't the same as hers as long as they are mine and I can defend them. I really respect that about Allison.
I always feel like I can talk to Alli. I have talked to her about religion, dates, travel, study, future, personality and Family. I am sure, had I any need to, I could comfortably nut out problems with sex with Alli and it wouldnt be awkward, it wouldnt be judgy and it WOULD be an overshare. But thats ok, oversharing is a small price to pay for the ability to have an open conversation with someone.
I think feeling truly welcome is an uncommon feeling, many people don't even have it at home. With Alli and Gerry's house I know that if I were ever in a spot of bother at any time of the day or night  I could rock up on their doorstep and they would welcome me in with loving arms.
Its Allisons loving, open, sassy, smart and fun personality that has made it a privilege being her niece and I Love her lots and lots.

Its 1.32am, so there is every possibility that this writing is not eloquent, my apologises.

I finished my assignment! wanna see? http://prezi.com/0hoepsrpl0l5/?utm_campaign=share&utm_medium=copy&rc=ex0share

I think that schools are doing sex education wrong. I know this isn't a new revelation but I was thinking about a particular way that they could improve.
Surely everyone has seen mentally scarring images of STIs left to rampantly destroy peoples genitals, and most of that is thanks to the scare campaign used by teachers in schools. as much as I love watching year 9 girls crumble under the sheer horror of what could be lurking under peoples clothes I think that this is the wrong tactic to use. STIs are a legit thing, they affect a lot of people. So perhaps in schools we should be showing kids images of what STIs can look like in their infancy so that kids can learn to recognise what an actual STI is and then maybe they can get it sorted out and we can minimise the amount of people affected by these taboo terrors.
just a thought.

I was going to include scarring images but they were too gross, so instead I will put a picture of my internet history..

FROCKTOBER!

So this October I have participated in Frocktober, which is where I wear ONLY dresses for the month of October and raise money for research into Ovarian cancer. I have been uploading daily photos to facebook but I thought I would share them on here too.

Day 31: I have 52 dresses, $640 for charity and one month under my belt of wearing ONLY dresses!
To everyone who told me they liked seeing my dresses on facebook, or donated, Thank-you! the encouragement made this month more fun and a lot easier than it might have otherwise been.
My last dress is actually Binnys. I wanted to go out with something interesting, and there is nothing better than a Princess dress!!

 





Day 30: I bought this dress at a garage sale, the girl selling clothes had the most beautiful dresses, but they were all size 8! This was the only one that fit me.

Day 29: giant old lady dresses are an amazing source of cool fabric, and so much cheaper than spotlight! This is the Clayton's of dresses. The dress you wear when you don't want to be wearing a dress. So comfy!

Day 28: unlike day 19, this was actually my very first dress (voluntary) dress. it was $100 reduced to $10. I wore it to the sweetheart dance when I was a freshman at Fillmore. That night was when I knew that Stephie and I would be best friends and I realised I had such a crush on Cory.

Day 27: I went to Chadstone at the start of the year to try and buy shoes to match a dress that I wanted to wear to Sam's 21st and accidentally bought this new dress instead. in more exciting news i have just about reached my target amount to raise for frocktober! but we should definitely blow it out of the water!

Day 26: This is the first dress I ever altered from the Op-Shop. I got a positive response and I realised that making and altering dresses was something I could do alright.

  

















Day 25: castle day and I'm late! rocking the Op-Shop dress

  

















Day 24: I made this Richmond dress for my football themed 21st. My favourite bit about it is the fully functional zip on the front.
Can you tell I like Richmond a bit?

  












Day 23: I made today's dress at the start of this year but I really don't care about that because I HAVE A NEW CAMERA AND IT IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING IN THE WORLD!

  

















Day 22: today is dedicated to me telling you how amazing the store H&M is. I love it. I love it I love it I love it! When I travelled in my gap year it was basically a world tour of H&M. This dress was from the American store.

  


















Day 21: I can't go to judo tonight because I have to wear dresses :( this dress is sooo comfy! It was bought with granny birthday money last year 

Day 20: this dress affords me zero modesty, when I wear it I just have to accept the fact that everyone will see my bra and Undies. It's hot, so sue me.

  

















Day 19: this dress has so much sentimental value, it was the first non formal dress I ever bought. I remember thinking that it was the happiest most beautiful dress I had ever seen and when I tried it on it fitted perfectly. There is no joy like the moment that zip goes up and you realise it was meant to be.

  

















Day 18: I am soooo sick :( the only thing making me feel better right now is my Nutella toastie and the wedding dress shows on tv. I made this dress and it is the first thing I have ever accidentally shrunk in the dryer. Luckily I made it too big to start with. 

Day 17: I tried to wear a different dress to annual dinner but I panicked and changed to this one at the last minute. I think its the nicest dress i've ever made. Ok now I am carsick from uploading this whilst on a party bus 

Day 16: I made this dress, My favourite part of it is the red zipper at the back that you cant see in this photo.

  

















Day 15: woaaah we're halfway therre!
This dress is not from the little op shop in Yarrunga, but the little little op shop around the corner from the little op shop in Yarrunga. it cost a whopping $2.

  

















Day 14: For the life of me I could not get a photo I was happy with today, which is odd because I LOVE this dress! it was $10 new from Bridge Rd.
I hope you like the photo because I accidentally made myself motion sick whilst taking it, and now I feel rather poorly  :(

  













Day 13: This dress makes me feel like a fairy princess! I bought it in Germany, where I decided that I don't like museums and art galleries and I was by myself so I went shopping instead. I never buy white things, but this is my favourite exception to that rule.
If you guys want to donate to frocktober don't forget to head to this link
https://frocktober.everydayhero.com/au/cecelia

  

















Day 12: this is the dress that was decorated at tight write on bright function. It doubles excellently as a nighty for october. Today I care entirely not at all about what I look like, so it finally happened. I wore pyjamas into Mcdonalds.

Day 11: I have had 5 hours sleep, I have to start and finish an assignment today and the INTERNET WONT WORK PROPERLY! I bought this dress in Italy 5 years ago. It was my very first impulse buy and remains the most expensive dress that I own.

   

















Day 10: Committees last function!! Today was the first legitimate challenge I had in frocktober. I REALLY wanted to wear a sparkly leotard to this party but I couldn't #firstworldproblems

  
















Day 9: ever have one of those days that your face refuses to be nice? I hated this dress when I made it, but it is slowly growing on me.

  

















Day 8: this is my root canal dress, I bought it as my reward for getting a root canal. I needed a comfy dress today so I could study.

  

















Day 7: I had my first practical class today. Runners and a dress, not a good look! I think I probably flashed everyone during the vertical jump but they had the good decency not to mention it :)

  

















Day 6: this is my hens night dress, believe it or not it was MORE ugly before I altered it.

  

















Day 5: I know I have enough dresses already but I accidentally bought another one at the op shop today. I think it might be an illness, is there a word for that? Dressophilliac?

  

















Day 4: This is one of my favourite dresses! It is made out of old sunday school songs.

  

















Day 3: ok, so not the best photo. I went to a guy today who worked on my knee. I did not think this through because that dress is quite short!

  

















Day 2: The inconvenience of gardening lay not in the dress but in my inability to use a shovel with bare feet.

  

















Day 1: Victoria is in the clutches of some crazy wind storms, so it was a very immodest start to frocktober.