Something has happened to me, something both unexpected and unfamiliar: I own a dress. It's not even green and I . . . like . . . it. It's hanging in my closet ominously, easily distinguished from my other clothes, my non-dresses. But I like it.
To fully comprehend the time-stopping magnitude of this situation, one must understand that I never wear dresses. I mean, I wear them when society demands it of me, but I complain the whole time. I don't really have a concrete reason why, but I suppose I thought dresses were annoying. Dresses don't have pockets. When you wear a dress, you have to sit a certain way so as not to be immodest. When you wear a dress, you have to wear appropriate shoes. Previously, I wore strictly pants, mostly jeans. I honestly don't pay much attention to clothes (to my roommate's dismay). If it's clean and unwrinkled when I wake up in the morning, I will wear it without a fuss. I have no strongly held opinions about my wardrobe.
Why do dresses have this sudden appeal? Is it possible that, deep inside me, I have harbored a latent attraction to dresses and only realized it now? If I like dresses, it could mean there are a lot of things I formerly dismissed but will enjoy in the future. Oh my goodness. What's next? Will I soon be wearing makeup every single day, or get the urge to spend longer than ten minutes on my hair? I usually don't. It probably shows.
It is a common belief that people are confusing. I generally reserve that adjective for people other than myself and for inanimate objects I don't understand. Yet here I am, unable to make sense of my own thoughts and motives. Next time you see me, I may be wearing a dress. Don't ask me why.
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