"I think you're a jean and t-shirt kinda girl." And so my fashionable, Europe travelling aunt observed to me in the card she sent me for my ninth birthday that accompanied my present. A t-shirt she probably picked up at a Scottish thrift shop.
And, guess what. She was right. I love my blue jeans. I always have. At ten I already had definite favourites. At twelve I was already admiring my denim collection. By fifteen I'd decided jeans should be acceptable for formal wear, interviews, and first dates.
And t-shirts. I have ones I wouldn't part with. The ones I usually reach for first. A collection I've built up with patient scaning of many second hand stacks. They change. As do my favouites. But, as when I was eight, my favourites are always at the top of my drawer (or on my floor and ready to wear).
To me nothing sounds so sexy for a girl as wearing worn in bluejeans with her hair loose (or quickly put up) and a favourite jersey, sweater, or...t-shirt. What could be better then being comfortable, casual, and ready for life?
Which is why this is a great time of year. Not that I don't revel fresh summer air on bare-legs when my shorts come out each June. Not that I don't love unearthing a favourite hoodie. Not that I don't enojoy hanging out in boxers and, putting on my suede jacket, or wearing scarfs and one of my collection of hats.
But When I can get up in the morning and scan my favourite, worn in tees. And then wear them with my favourite, worn in jeans. When a tank-top and good baggy jeans are what you pull on before walking to town, well... really... How can that be beat?
It's indian summer. And that's exactly where we're at. Today in my jeans and grungy ripped camo tee (coincidentely one of my favourites, which my Mother and sister conveniently hate) I walked about. Library, thrift store, post office. Recieving what will probably be my last comments of the year on my barefeet. "Lost your shoes?".
It's like a lucky extension of summer. Except I get to wear jeans.