This is a post about my floral sunglasses.
Once upon a time, I only wore things that allowed me to blend in.
Let me tell you about eighth grade briefly. I'm too old to be writing about eighth grade, but for some reason I feel like I have a lot to say about it, so no one is going to stop me.
In eighth grade, we had a school uniform. We wore white and navy blue polo shirts and plaid green kilts and brown shoes. On free-dress days we also had a uniform. We wore abercrombie jeans and pastel colored polo shirts and Jack Rogers flip flops.
At school dances the uniform was similar, trading out the abercrombie jeans for denim skirts. J. Crew was also acceptable. That was it.
One day, I decided to rebel. That's the kind of angsty kid I was, full of simultaneous contempt and reverence for the social codes (I studied them like an anthropologist). I carefully calibrated the degree of deviance from the norm that would still be acceptable. I wore a maroon polo.
And I got compliments.
For being edgy.
I wish I could say that from that day forward I broke the rules all the time. That would be a boldfaced lie. But being looked at like I'm doing some thing different and awesome still makes me excited.
And with that lengthy backstory, I present to you, my floral sunglasses.