Thing a Week 34: An Ultimatum. Of Sorts.

Yes, it's late, sorry, but at least I posted something else that could be read while I wrote this. I went to an activity this week, and I spent quite of my time there in a tired haze, gazing about my surroundings like a sheep that's been fed sleep medication (I haven't really slept in the last week, hooray for education). And as I was thusly engaged, I had thoughts about fashion, mainly my lack thereof. I therefore decided to write the following piece:

As I look around, I find my bodies coverings being relegated to the archives of antiquity. It is not done out of malice, nor is it deliberate. It is, I suppose, a march of progress. Salutary in it's way, but destined to have casualties in the flannel fields where the fashion unconscious lie. Still, if I am to be filed and drawered in the sepia cabinets of the past, at least I can find comforts in their wintered greys and bleached browns, in the monochrome tones of times long past. Certainly, I may be dowdy to the Victorians that share my filing cabinet, but it will hardly be a change.
AND THEREFORE, for myself and any who to join me, I hereby proclaim: From this point forth, let my words, my actions, and my hollow pronouncements declare my individualities, for my wardrobe surely will not. And if my husk should scare away those who would judge me...

Life Happens.