Getting dressed, I reach for the grey
black top. Wait
. It's gonna to be
today (Or at least, the
coldest it's been this season
) and I'd
rather layer. So I put on the grey shirt and then
the black one, two tops overlapping at the wrists
and waist and neck
. And the grey skirt, black
socks, my sneakers of course, black and grey and
some reflective silver strips
Alright, so I like black. And I like grey. And
just for the record, I like maroon too.
Sweatshirt hoodie, for warmth: grey fleece. Jacket:
grey scratchy wool. And a scarf, jauntily flung
around the neck, to muffle my ears when I get outside.
Arrayed thus, I glance at the mirror and laugh.
That makes what, 5? 6? monochrome shades? Excepting
the scarf, (which is a deep splash of red), everything
I am wearing is either black or grey. Everything.
Black bra, grey undies.
Some days the mix is sufficient that I don't look like
a black and white photograph. And okay, some days I end
up looking matchy-matchy. Yeah, it could be a
little cutesy, or bland, or whatever. But I like
it. I do.
Call me weird, but I get the most perverse pleasure
walking out of the house, knowing the every garment
on my body is one of two colors, down to the
shoelaces. I feel good all over, like a deep-down
clean, spiffy, because I'm wearing the colors I like
and I'm wearing them. Not like it takes much
effort, (especially in the winter), 85% of my
clothing is either black, grey, or maroon, but still:
I am in black, I am in grey, I'm in my favorite clothes
(black.grey.favorite.) and I smile.