Anyone who knows me is aware that I am no fashion plate. My favorite attire is jeans and a t-shirt. I’m all about wash-n-wear, baby.
In spite of my unfashionable tendencies, I make an effort to at least look like I tried a little. You know, harmonious colors or patterns; I don’t put purple polka dots with orange plaid. When my kids were little I let them dress themselves, but I did nudge them toward matching socks.
So where did I go wrong?
Last evening my 15-year-old daughter, Christina, was on a mission to find green fingernail polish. Hubby and I agreed to drive her to the store and she came downstairs wearing a tank top of eye-popping teal, shamrock green basketball shorts, flip-flops the color of dirty dishwater, and a black and white striped headband. When I managed to peel my eyes away I swear my corneas were on fire.
“What?” She asked.
“Please,” begged her dad. “Go change…something.”
A back-and-forth conversation ensued regarding individualism and personal expression. In the end she stomped upstairs to do her father’s bidding while we waited in the car. When she climbed into the back seat I was hard pressed to see what was different.
“I switched out my flip-flops,” she grinned. “Daddy said to change something. I changed something.”
Her flip-flops were, indeed, now blue. No one would mistake them for matching the rest of her ensemble, but she had done as requested: she changed something.
“You always tell me,” she pointed out, “that I should be true to myself and that it doesn’t matter what other people think. So why do my clothes have to match? I’m comfy. And it isn’t like I would wear this to school.”
I gave it considerable thought and decided that she made a good point. She was just running to the drugstore for glow-in-the-dark snot-green fingernail polish, so why dress to impress? And you know what? Wildflowers don’t always match, either; but by golly, they are a sight to see.
And last night…so was Christina.
Til next time,