I have this shirt...
Since losing some weight I've been able to shop at "normal" clothing stores. And it's great. Well, mostly great. One store I shop at often tends to be snobbish and cold but what's a gal to do? (Yep, I know there are many things I could do...but I haven't)
This one shirt I really, really liked. I liked it on the hanger. I liked it on me more. But I did not like the price. And so I played the waiting game. You know, I'm getting good at that game. This time it paid off. A week later this shirt was 40% off. Nice.
Of course this shirt is blue tones...lovely blues that I don't often wear. So this presented the first set of problems, pants and shoes. What do I wear with this shirt?
After I got home I dug through my shoe cabinet. This literally is a cabinet that I shove my shoes into on a daily basis. I happened to have a lovely pair of bronze heels to rock with this shirt. But which pants? I found myself at a point where all my pants were either black or super big.
But, ah ha! I could wait until Friday. On Fridays we can wear jeans to work. That would be fantastic.
And so Friday finally came. Unfortunately for the record books, it happened to be this Friday. A Friday I'm sure I won't forget for a very long time. I remember thinking as I dressed that morning that this shirt was going to help me cope with the day. I'd look fantastic and feel the same despite what was happening inside me.
And all Friday long this shirt stuck with me. It kept me cool in the warm, humid, sun. It made me feel put together as I watched many a people walk past me in pajamas and other lounging clothes. Every once in a while I remembered the great deal I got on that shirt. And that was my problem...I put too much emphasis on this damn shirt.
Even now, one month past the whole ordeal, whenever I see this shirt that's all I can think of. The poor shirt is ruined to me. No matter what I try to pair it with, no matter how many times I try to convince myself it's just a part of my wardrobe, I only ever think of that Friday full of tears, red-stained cotton gauzed elbows, and a small, very small, loss (emphasis on the actual size...).
I really am passed all the emotional baggage of the event, but why am I still stuck on this stupid shirt?