my parents are getting ready to go for a function. My father is dressed up in a shirt and will wear a tie. He is thin but relatively tall. His glasses look clearly and the gold frame seems accented though I doubt he spent much time specifically polishing them for this. He sits on the chair in the room by the front door, seemingly thinking of nothing but not being absent minded. It is as if he's is preparing himself for something, though there really isn't much he to prepare for. I don't think he's preparing for anything. He is waiting. My mother will put on a nice dress. A woman enjoys dressing up. Without functions and events to attend, when will she have the chance to put on beautiful clothing and articles? Everything must go more right than usual. There is less casualness. Once dressed up, there are things I don't like to do. I don't want to sweat. I don't want to touch my glasses too many times. My finger oils might affect this feeling of formality I have. These events are one of the banes of my memories. A reminder of me being in a middle class family. Not even middle class. It reminds me that the ones I love aren't getting what I want them to have. The feeling is romanticized in me. The feeling is stronger in a memory than it would be in reality.

The ones who matter won't turn up at such functions. When they do, they either flaunt their extravagance or come dressed more shabbily than unspokenly required, exhibiting a sense of independence of the social constructs around them. The social constructs that my parents follow. A thorn in my side.

It's a cruel world. Although maybe it's all in my head. Then it's a cruel world in my head.

Why do we have to suck up like that.
The hypocrites, even in the church. The pervasive social constructs. My poor vocabulary.