During the summer, I’m envious of carefree people in their long white linen and gauze. They seemingly stroll in confidence and tranquility on the beach, through the meadow, along a city sidewalk. They move like they are in a Downy fabric softener commercial. Unfazed. Unintimidated. Unconcerned. Why can’t I be like that?
Me? I’m wearing a white skirt today. I feel pressure. The city seems like an obstacle course of grime and soot. I sense the ticking time bomb ready to explode on my apparel. I worry about falling down and getting a grass, blood or mud stain. I’m also weirdly concerned about people throwing a dirt ball at me. It’s never actually happened before but I feel certain it would happen when I’m wearing white.
I know without a doubt there is a definite correlation between me wearing a white top and coffee spillage. The two don’t coordinate well together in my life. I need to finish my coffee before I put on the white top. I have a shoulder strap purse that has only made a mark on my two white tops. No other top has ever been affected by this purse. Let’s face it! The whites hate me. They tease me into taking a risk and then mark me for life.
Yet, I continue to put myself smack dab in my discomfort zone, among the fickle whites. If I get home tonight unblemished, I will be stunned. Fingers crossed!