Have we talked about how I have a fear of white and white-ish clothes? I think it started when I was 10. I was best friend with a girl who was a triplet, and I had slept over her house the night before.
Somehow, I ended up borrowing a pair of her sister’s white GAP jeans when we went out to some outdoor event – football game? Someone’s cheerleading practice? Anyway, there was also chocolate. That I ate. And then, naturally and unthinkingly, I wiped my hands on those pristine white jeans.
Oh, the horror.
The thing is, I don’t even remember anyone saying anything about it – no one berated me or cried or anything. All it took was one second for me to look down at myself and see my colossal slovenly mistake to feel that burning mortification with the strength of a thousand suns.
I like to blame my kids for generally not wearing white, but it’s really that I’m just kind of accident-prone. My second-grade teacher *did* nickname me The Massive Bandaid afterall. Or maybe not accident-prone so much as overwhelmed in public situations – hello, introversion!
So witness my bravery! Not one, but TWO white-ish items in one outfit!
And I may even venture so far as to have some chocolate later. Really throw caution to the wind. Wish me luck.