Hooray! It is now acceptable to wear white! Everyone rejoice!
Psyche. If you still believe in that dusty old rule of not wearing white until Memorial Day, well, let me take a minute to shake my shame stick at you. Come now … it’s 2014.
So yeah, I loathe color. In small doses, fine, but you will never catch me in a ROYGBIV anything. I praise the book of Kardashian (yes, I just said that), wearing mostly neutrals. White, black (mostly black), grey, nude … and then, you know, I’ll spice it up with some colorful accessories. It’s not because I’m boring or “basic,” it is just because I find neutrals to be extraordinarily chic and leave endless options for accessorizing. Word.
As much as I wish I could rock an entire white outfit, I unfortunately am not gifted with those abilities. Because I’m what you would call a “magnet for stains.” People say it is all in my head, but I find it to be 100% accurate. So much so that it pains me to buy light colors because I know said garment will be destroyed in the matter of minutes. Stains just find me. If I’m sitting sipping club soda and a woman across the restaurant is eating a hamburger with ketchup, that ketchup will find its way to my blouse. I can’t win.
The worst part is taking my stained articles of clothing to the dry cleaners. The looks of judgement and confusion I get are slightly painful.
Dry cleaner: ::::Inspecting::: but what is it?
Me: I don’t know :::starts to sweat:::
Dry cleaner: :::Still inspecting::: dirt? Soda? Grease?
Me: Seriously, I just don’t know, can you save it?
Dry cleaner: Oooohh this will be tough, but I’ll try. You need to be more careful!
Me: :::Sulking away:::
Stain-wise, the strangest things happen to me. For example, this past weekend I had a bottle of hot sauce in my hand bag (I mean … don’t ask), which happened to be light jean colored and to DIE for, and said bottle of hot sauce opened in my bag and destroyed everything in its path. I’m calling it the “hot sauce massacre.” It actually isn’t easy for me to discuss as I will be begging dry cleaners on my hands and knees to salvage my bag over my lunch break. Not to mention I’m never touching hot sauce again as the smell is making me want to vom. Literally. I can’t. But somehow the hot sauce, which ground zero of the hot sauce massacre was strictly centered inside my handbag, ended up on my duvet cover, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts. I just don’t get it. :::Sigh:::
What I’m saying is, I hope you are all enjoying your light colored clothes … all day errday. And most importantly, not carrying around bottles of hot sauce in your hand bags. And if you aren’t, think of people like myself who when they wear white, the tops of Starbucks cups magically fall off whilst drinking tea, leaving light-colored shirts covered in abstract tea art. Yeah … that happened, too.