The last days of the summer dress
Summer is waning. The days are growing dimmer. The sun is losing its luster. My summer TV shows (Keeping Up With the Kardashions and #RichKidsofBeverelyHills) are ending.
And even though I welcome the upcoming fall with leather jackets and sweater dresses. There's a part of my heart (a small part) that will miss the summer. The special glow that Netflix has at 2 AM. The excitement at watching television at my friend's house instead of mine. The knowledge that no matter how long the TV series. I have all the time in the world to finish it. But, most of all, I'm going miss this dress.Ever year I bring it out as soon as the temperature hits 60 degrees (which is June in the Midwest) and every time I wear it I feel absolutely adorable.There's something special about summer dress. Just putting it on can bring a smile to my face. I feel like a rainbow that has come to life. Not a very colorful rainbow,an adolescent rainbow just gaining her stripes. I look forward to the crisp breeze of fall but part of me will always look forward to pulling out my summer dress next season. |
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bUT hear me out....
Orange pants.
Take a moment. Think about it.
Not black. Not tan. Not a fancy slate wash grey.
But a bright orange.
Not a sunset orange or a light pastel orange but a no apologies, a clown-might-actually-own-this orange.
Summertime inspires the risk-taker in me. I eat ice cream before going to the lake, I walk on the carpet with my shoes on, and I buy orange pants.
Usually I would outright dismiss the idea of buying anything orange. I have a strict fall color template that I stick to almost religiously. But maybe it was the sun, the copious amounts of free time, the thrill of actually leaving my house, who knows, but something inside spoke to me (perhaps a fashionable clown) and told me to get the orange pants. And not a single molecule body regrets the decision. Too often pants are after thoughts. They are chosen not out of love or admiration but simply because they go with the shirt you really want to wear. But no longer do your pants have to play second fiddle. Move them up to first chair violin. Trust me. It doesn't even have to be orange. Maybe a nice sunshine yellow or a a radioactive lilac. Once you get a pair of bright ass pants you're not going to want to take them Bach (get it fiddles, violin, music, composer).
Take a moment. Think about it.
Not black. Not tan. Not a fancy slate wash grey.
But a bright orange.
Not a sunset orange or a light pastel orange but a no apologies, a clown-might-actually-own-this orange.
Summertime inspires the risk-taker in me. I eat ice cream before going to the lake, I walk on the carpet with my shoes on, and I buy orange pants.
Usually I would outright dismiss the idea of buying anything orange. I have a strict fall color template that I stick to almost religiously. But maybe it was the sun, the copious amounts of free time, the thrill of actually leaving my house, who knows, but something inside spoke to me (perhaps a fashionable clown) and told me to get the orange pants. And not a single molecule body regrets the decision. Too often pants are after thoughts. They are chosen not out of love or admiration but simply because they go with the shirt you really want to wear. But no longer do your pants have to play second fiddle. Move them up to first chair violin. Trust me. It doesn't even have to be orange. Maybe a nice sunshine yellow or a a radioactive lilac. Once you get a pair of bright ass pants you're not going to want to take them Bach (get it fiddles, violin, music, composer).