Most girls are overcome with decision paralysis when it comes to what to wear.
Some, like me, more than others.
I almost wish we were required to wear uniforms at work, because that would save me at least an hour of agonizing over my options. But I also dread the idea of wearing a white polo shirt and looking like a factory worker.
I’ve tried many approaches. Pre-selected combinations the night before. Color-coding schemes for every day of the week. Following the month’s trend. Wearing similar outfits for an entire week.
It still takes me an hour at the minimum.
I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to choose. Maybe because it’s easier not to.
On a particularly tiring Monday morning, I called up my best friend.
“It’s only six,” she whined, sleep still interlaced in her voice.
“I know. But I’ve been up since five and I can’t decide what to wear.”
She didn’t even miss a beat, and I had to admire that from someone who’d just woken up. “The flowery dress with the navy cardigan and the cognac ankle boots.”
I blinked. “… Didn’t I wear that last week?”
“Two months ago.” I heard a thump, and I cringed. She probably fell off her bed. “You owe me dinner.”
Dinner, thankfully, was a lot less agonizing choice to make.
related: Unchooser, Part I
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.