Having learned the hard way, I am not the kinda girl who can get dressed to go out after only trying on one outfit. No, I have to empty my closet of all that is hanging, or folded, and try one combination after another until finally, I am back to the first outfit I chose. And then, I am so sweaty and disheveled, that I have to start the hair and makeup process all over again. I don't understand my penchant for having all of my clothes strewn all over my room when I don't have a personal maid to come and put them away for me. There is no magic fairy that comes when I am out of the house and places all my now wrinkled and most definitely, dog hair laden, discarded clothes away in neat order. Oh no, its my burden to bear, and it usually hits me when I step back into my bedroom after a night out and a few cocktails, and slip on the jeans on the floor, and then in my attempt to stop my downward fall, step on the belt buckle in bare feet.
Why am I not the kinda girl who picks out an outfit and is happy the first time? Is it that the grass is greener on the other side of the hanger, or that black really is slimming and that color is my enemy? No matter how hard I try, I can not seem to get a grip on the first thing is usually the right thing? Maybe in time, but for now, I have to go and pick up last night's pile of newly dirty laundry that I left in my wake getting ready for a night out with my husband.
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