A Jill of No Shades

I may have walked on a runway. I may have even immersed myself in a hip, fashion forward city once. However, when it comes to piecing together an outfit? I may as well be asked to figure out calculus find the cure for cancer.

All of my life, my fashion sense hinged upon ideas from things around me. A fitted, ultra chic ensemble in the window of Banana Republic, I’ll run inside to try it on, only to confirm my body shape is nothing like a mannequin. A soft, multi-colored pastel sundress from a friend’s closet, I try it on, only to find that it accentuates my narrow shoulders and king-king size arse.

So what’s a girl to do?

I run and hide under my fallback jeans and black shirt. Or black pants and black shirt. Or black dress and a black pashmina.

See a pattern here?

No, I am not in perpetual mourning, nor am I color blind. On the contrary, I am merely benevolent to public eyes, and avoid blinding everyone with my poor color coordination.

However, my father-in-law IS colorblind. He purchased a new Black automobile years ago, drove it home, only to find his family completely baffled at why he would buy a Purple car. His son, Dadisodes? He’s no help either. Up until last year, he thought wearing brown shoes with a black shirt was kosher.

*Insert head shake and eye roll*

My daughter is swimming in a color handicapped gene pool!

Thankfully I am fully aware of this issue and are taking steps to avoid raising a Wednesday Addams. While purchasing clothes for my daughter, I avoid black at all costs. I’m aware of the habit-forming possibilities. I am also fortunate enough to have a niece older than my daughter, who regularly sends colorful hand-me-downs. And recently, I’ve asked Babisodes to help pick out her own outfits in the morning.

Friday morning we were in a bit of a hurry. I opened up Babisodes’ dresser drawer and instructed her to pick out pants and a shirt to wear. In a flurry, I donned my usual jeans and shirt, Babisodes in her chosen outfit, and then ran downstairs to put on shoes.

In the distance I hear, “Mommy, wait! I gots to get my purse and stings!”

*loud clamoring of plastic toys*

Me: “Okay! Hurry up! Get your shoes on and let’s go. We’re late!”

Babisodes: “ Ahwite mommy. I ready to go! I gots my stuff. We can go now.”

*Enters room wearing this*

I believe she’s all set to swim in that defective gene pool now.


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