Looking Cross-Eyed At The World

When you were young, you prolly had pulled silly faces that involved crossed eyes, and your mom had prolly told you to stop it, because if you kept at it, your eyes would be stuck that way forever.

When I was young, I'd believed my mom. Then I grew a little older and figured out she was only scaring me and it wasn't true. (Oh, clever little me!) Now that I'm much older, I realize Mommy was right all along - if you keep at it long enough, it will be stuck that way forever.

Some years ago - many enough for me to not remember exactly how many - I'd adopted a pose and a uniform. The pose was that of ... well, it was something hackneyed, done to death since centuries ago, and involves several clichéd attitudes and elements, such as: a fear of commitment, a too-many-times-bitten-to-be only-shy mind-set, and relocation to a one-girl island, etc. The uniform is simpler (but no less tired) - wear black, black, and more black, even if it meant I'd die in the equatorial heat.

I'd adopted them and had stuck with them all these years. In recent years I have realized I'm really stuck with them. Prolly forever. And, fuck me, Mommy was right. Who woulda thunk? (Not clever little me, that's for damn sure.)

The realization I was stuck struck when I'd opened my wardrobe one morning and wondered what to wear - the black long-sleeve V-neck pullover, the black three quarter-sleeve sweater, the black three quarter-sleeve V-neck Mango top, the black long-sleeve round-neck Glassons top, the black long-sleeve V-neck Shanton top, or ...

I could go on, but what's the point? Suffice to say, they're black, black, and more black.

Anyway, I reached into the black pile and found a pale grayish-blue top. I pulled it on, but immediately felt ... funny. Not haha-funny; not the good sort of funny. I felt like I was overly conspicuous and somewhat naked. That was when I realized I was stuck with black. (I did wear the non-black top that day, but had pulled a black zip-up hoodie over it and didn't once take the hoodie off.)

The funny (again, not haha-funny) thing is, I don't even remember why I'd adopted the pose and uniform in the first place. Okay, maybe for the pose, I can remember why if I checked my old journals; but the uniform? Bugger if I knew.

(Kel did remind me that black was slimming. That's a good reason to wear black, but I don't think it's the reason I wear black.)

I think I'd been contented with black. But then I did a diploma course in Apparel Design & Merchandizing, and found that I didn't dislike colors; on the contrary, I had salivated over Pucci prints and all those vintage fabric designs and clothing - and I still love vintage clothing, especially hippy-wear. I also have a real fondness for Indian prints and dress.

Actually, I do own garments that are colorful, printed, mirrored, and etc.; I just don't dare to wear them anymore. I still buy them, but only for my sort-of-collection. Mommy hates most of them because they're second-hand from the Salvation Army, and according to her, "Who knows what kind of people [the clothes] belonged to - what if they have skin diseases?"

I think I'd like to wear my non-black stuff, but there are, like, a million gazillion reasons for sticking with black; the foremost being color-fastness. Besides, all these non-black stuff, they're really shitty laundry to do because they are most of them delicate, and require hand-washing and ironing - two things I absolutely abhor doing and would feel guilty if Mommy (or Daddy) did them for me. (Also, if you wore only one color, you don't have to worry about dark colors bleeding onto the lights and whites, and you get to do fewer loads too.)

While it's not really depressing for me to see and wear so much black, sometimes I feel like a change, just because. Then again, I feel like I should stick to black because my Inner Masochist insists that I'd made my sty and should bloody well wallow in it.

Conflicts, conflicts, conflicts ...

So I'd hit on a compromise - colored socks. They're easy to wash, and never require any ironing. If they bleed, so what? Everything else in the load is black. Also, I won't feel naked in them because - well, who in the hell's gonna see 'em? My Doc Marts are high and my jeans long; even when I sit down and cross my legs, the jean leg shortens to reveal only more black boot.

I got these candy-colored babies from K-Mart - mitten socks - the coolest. I feel happy just looking at them. Not even Jaya, with her sock fetish, has such mitten socks that rock.





So I figured, okay, maybe I'm gonna be stuck with my crossed eyes (so to speak) forever, but hey, at least I am gonna be looking cross-eyed at the world with sweet ass mitten socks on.