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She should really water that plant.
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In her living room, Val sat back in her recliner, a mixed drink in hand. She was a woman in her late forties, of Korean descent. She wore a purplish-grey knee-length dress with a boat-cut neck and dark grey stockings. She said, “I’m not sure what I hate more,” and then paused there to take a sip of her drink, “that I hate my body, or that I hate the fact that society has warped me so much that I hate my body. What do you think, Jo?” Her best friend, Josephine, a white woman of the same age with auburn hair in a pony tail, said, “I think somebody needs another splash of bourbon in her diet cola,” as she poured bourbon into Val’s drink.
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The first thing that alcohol takes is judgement. Sober up and reconsider?
I don’t think she needs another diet bourbon cola. She’s had 8 already.
You know, I don’t think I ever commented how much I like the wild diversity of characters in Spactrawler. Bravo!
And that’s before you even start counting the aliens
Predictions: Who arrives with a spaceship and takes them off on their adventure?
Hmmm, she hates her body, eh? And elsewhere in the galaxy, a scientist is testing body-swapping tech. Where could this possibly lead?
And another character likes centaurs, when a centauroid is considering a body swap.
Is that a yucca?
Huh. Maybe! 🙂
By the time you’re in your late 40s, if you’re not a bit philosophical about your body’s shape–which will certainly not be improving in the long run–you’re probably in trouble.
So, we count cola cans instead of mice now? Okay, no prob….
As a female, I can tell you we’re taught to hate our bodies.. or remake them into Barbie dolls and wear only pink. (Pink is a color I try to avoid).
This idea isn’t new, sadly enough, regardless of generation.