When did my life become dominated by polo shirts?
I packed a change of clothes into my backpack last night, after tearing myself away from the much-anticipated (seriously) re-reading of my second favorite book of all time.
I flipped through the assortment of brightly colored shirts, the kakhi pants and the black dress pants I'd recently washed, folded and put away.
Every other shirt was a polo shirt. Bright green, short sleeves. Slightly brighter green, three-quarter sleeves. Dark green, long sleeves. Turquoise. Pink. Navy blue. Stripes. Pale pink.
Some work best with a knee-length linen skirt. Others with professional clothing. Still more with jeans (much like the one I'm wearing today). The last with shorts. Each has a distinctive purpose, a different way it fits.
But when the hell did polos take over my life? I wear other things, of course, but most fall into the similar this-works-for-work-and-play category. Which caused just as much alarm.
What happened to the well-worn concert t-shirts? The simple, long-sleeved shirts?
The yuppification of my life flashed before my eyes, and I wanted to rail against the polo-button-sewing machines.
I went to sleep instead. And, upon waking, contemplated what to wear during what would be a very, very long day.
Ah, a polo shirt and jeans would be cute. Let's go with that.
Aurgh.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment