In high school, my mother bought me a khaki business suit. By the grace of God, I can still wear the skirt, pants and jacket, which, I believe, were meant to be worn together.
Since then, I’ve opted to wear them one at a time, paired with more flamboyant colors. (I mean, really? Who wears a BUSINESS SUIT?)
So, this morning, I put the skirt on. I felt great. I was ready to seize the day.
But when I got in the car with York Daily Record coworker Sean Adkins, I discovered the pleated khaki skirt resembled a tablecloth soiled with coffee and snackstuffs from years past.
I was mortified. I had no time to change. My tirade continued all the way to the courthouse, where I showed one of the guards my dirty dilemma.
Allegedly, as I discovered today, it needs to be dry cleaned. BUT SERIOUSLY. Who pays for that?
I’m 23. I don’t have time. I think I’ll just scrub it meticulously with a toothbrush.