White is my color. My mother has always told me “You look SO nice in white!”…she has also told me to never wear that mustard yellow that is one of the only colors I feel immediately drawn to. It sorta makes my olive toned skin look a little pukey. And that’s ok. I’ve mourned the loss of that hue from my general wardrobe and I pepper it in by way of jewelry and purses occasionally.
Meanwhile, I trash white shirts…and white anything…like its my part time job. Let me rephrase that…all my homies trash my white stuff. I am quite tidy and even cleanly if I’m being honest. I always loved having a clean room growing up and I enjoyed taking care of my things. But children change things. Children change things about you that you didn’t even realize were alterable, things that you might even consider some of your most indentifying qualities. Gone. Poof. Like they never existed. They can cause you to question every part of your identity…and make you reassess what is important and for the most part…it’s good.
So there came a point when I determined that wearing a white shirt could only take place under a few conditions…
1. I have to mentally go into the future moment in time when a child with peanut butter and jelly all over their fingers will embrace me or lose their balance and use me to stabilize or spill chocolate milk while I am within the splatter zone…and I have to slay the demon that would attempt to rear its ugly head in the form of a frustrated pre motherhood ️Autumn who is still trying to feel radiant in a white shirt. Her cranium needs to be severed off like that of Medusa. Then and then alone can I freely wear the shirt.
2. With #1 as a consoderation…#2 basically states that the white shirt that will eventually make its way to my rag bin must be acquired at an ultra low cost. This one was purchased from Salvation Army and I had to sew a hole on a seam before it was wearable.
3. The proper undergarments must be in place. I don’t care what year it is…and you can call me old fashioned (there are worse things to be) I don’t want to see your red bra thru your white shirt. I wouldn’t do that to you. Let’s just respect each other. 😉
Those gaucho pants were purchased from an American Eagle clearance rack. That store makes me feel old. Being 32 in a store that feels marketed to teen girls has that effect. I purchased these pants shortly after my 5th child was born and I needed to not feel like a huge slob but needed something loose and comfortable. As the pregnancy weight dispersed back to wherever I store it in between bouts of human fabrication, these pants became less of a self pity purchase and more of a “Hey, I forgot that I like these for other reasons besides just their fat hiding abilities!” Plus, they’re perfectly cozy to wear while sitting in a vehicle for 8 hours. And pockets. Just love pockets. I fill them with garbage and Chapstick and bobby pins and these pockets are nice and deep. Mmmhmmm.
Lastly, my most fashionable advice for today…
DENTAL HYGIENE! It doesn’t really matter how cute your outfit or style is…and your simple, classy accessorizing won’t matter a bit if your teeth are rotten and gone. I speak from experience. Root canals are the pits.
Now please excuse me while I go destroy this white shirt with that pile of humans.
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