Every spring, the same thing happens.
Stores start selling striped boatneck tops, and I immediately want to buy them, despite the fact that they look terrible on me. I mean, really, really bad. I have a short torso and a large chest. No matter how hard I try, no matter how active my imagination, I will never be a tall, thin, gamine.
I cannot flit through a farmer’s market in a striped boatneck top, capris and ballet flats. This is an undeniable truth that I need to accept – if for no other reason than that, in addition to being unable to wear striped tops, I’m just not capable of flitting. Careening, yes. Bumping into things like a bull in a china shop, totally. Wandering aimlessly, distracted by something shiny? Definitely. But flitting is about as likely as my randomly breaking into this dance:
Okay, that’s totally not true. I am way more likely to break into this dance at random. Actually, I’m pretty sure I’ve done that at least twice in the past year.