soccer jerseys for kids cheap A blue blouse in a black sea
I’ve never been skilled at dressing up.
It could be because, as the oldest of seven children, I never had more than seven minutes alone in a bathroom during my formative years. It could be because I grew up with my cousin’s hand me downs. Whatever the reason, I’m not a big clothes shopper, I’m all thumbs with a curling iron, and the only mirrors I consult on a regular basis are the ones attached to my car doors.
Normally, this isn’t a problem until I have a special event. Panic overtakes me and I end up cowering in a puddle of rejected clothes, hair frizzed beyond hope, self esteem in the gutter.
Fortunately, I have a lot of sisters.
One taught me a foolproof way to curl my hair. Another helps me shop for clothes. I wear a lot of black.
Some women have a little black dress. I have a little black everything.
Black goes with everything. It’s slimming. It’s dramatic. It’s nondescript. Basically, it’s the superhero of colors. And I think it says, “I’m an artist.”
Others think it says, “I love funerals” or “I’m scared of patterns” or “I’m a mime.”
One of my friends begged me to try any other color. She suggested a nice teal.”Black makes you look old.”
That one stung a little, but not enough to have me buying teal.
Recently, I had a special event on the calendar the Battle Creek Enquirer’s Mosaic Storytelling Showcase. I was not only a storyteller for this show, but one of the storytelling coaches.
At the final rehearsal, I suggested the women wear pants so they could clip the wireless mic box on the waistband. I shared how I wore a dress for last fall’s show and had to carry the mic box in my hand, which sort of defeated the whole wireless mic thing.
The morning of the show, my youngest daughter, who is ridiculously talented with a curling iron, offered to style my hair. Not only that, I had recently purchased a dark green dress, which I thought would go great with my black boots.
I had never been so relaxed getting ready.
I left the house five minutes early with curls cascading out of this complicated bun I could never do, wearing a pretty dress that wasn’t black. I felt great.
Then, I remembered the wireless mic. I ran back inside to change.
What to wear, what to wear, what to wear
Soon all my drawers were puking out clothes and my closet was a tangle of naked hangers and my hair was destroyed from rapid changes. Nothing was working and now I was going to be late, but I couldn’t be late. I have a silky black top that would look good with my long black sweater. I just needed to find them.