Do you ever have those mornings when you stand in front of your clothes and can't decide what to wear? I'm not talking about parties or functions or formal. I'm talking about getting up in the morning and getting dressed to go to the office. Or the gym. Or to walk across the street to the hospital where the first thing I'll do is take my own clothes off and put on a pair of hospital issued scrubs. It amazes me how some of the crap you think you leave years behind rises up out of the youth-grave and gives you a fright. Jeans, khakis or slacks? Pressed shirt or pull-over?
Oh-my-god-is-that-a-zit? How is that medically possible? How can a person live zit-free for more than half their life and still have one of the little effers pop up now and then? And, true to 13 year-old form, they tend to show up just before an event. Right between your eyes. Or on your forehead or on the corner of your lip like some herpetic tattle-tale.
I like to consider myself a grown-up. I like to think about grown-up things like justice and poverty and education and healthcare. But I'll be damned if standing there in my closet this morning I didn't feel just as inadequate as a teen and with no higher priority at that moment in time than trying to ponder my wardrobe for this Tuesday, November 27th.
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