#thatpinkdress

I hit my hand on the bed-post before I was fully awake. Bad sign. My knees were itchy. I left home late and got stuck in the mother of all traffic jams at Kalerwe. I yelled at a taxi driver who was trying to cut in front of me. All this in spite of the fact that I was up at 5:30am. 

I had got my clothes for the day ready last night- a pink dress and brown jacket. 

After bathing, lotioning and Vaselining, it was automatically time to dress up. I guess the bed-post incident had set the bad-mood ball rolling. Suddenly the pink dress seemed too cheery for my mood. The brown jacket had become too officious. 

I dived back into my wardrobes, riffling through the hangars. “This one? No. What about this? Maybe. Ate gwe?” I had started talking to the clothes. “Not, you. You’re so going nowhere!”

In the space of about three minutes, my unmade bed was strewn with all manner of clothes. Skirts, dresses, blouses, belts, trousers, petticoats. 

Then the trying-on process began. Dress after skirt after trousers after blouse. Tug it on. Look in the mirror. “No, this one makes my bust look humongous.” 

Trousers. “Too baggy, I feel like a baby whale.” This blouse. “ Too tight, will I be able to breathe after lunch?” 

The purple skirt. “Naaah! The waistband is too high.”

10 minutes. 20 minutes. Half an hour. 40 minutes. Nothing seemed to be working. I sat down on the bed, head in my hands, feeling very disappointed and weary, contemplating calling my boss and pleading a sudden headache.

In the silence, I heard someone open the gate and my neighbor’s kids calling out, “Bye Auntie!” (anti their mother is never around). 

“Gosh! What time is it?” I leaped up and hastily pulled the curtain aside. 

Maaaaamaaaa! The night had disappeared and the sun was out of bed. 

I grabbed the garment nearest me. It was the pink dress. The original idea from the night before. And the brown jacket.