sunday bests

You know that feeling you get when the sunshine beats your alarm clock at its own game? The buttery coloured light escapes past the curtains that you carelessly, sleepily did not draw the night before, and somehow you can smile before you can yawn. Before you've even had coffee.

Your first thought: who else isn't working today?
Your second: Where are my summer clothes? And no, not those ones right there in my closet hanging in all of their ample, unworn glory. The ones that are as new, as brilliant as the morning that woke me.

I want white. And not the kind that I have. "Safe white".

I want the kind that I would never dare wear around condiments, wet grass, dogs, Starbucks, Katy, red wine, The TTC, or Aunt Flo.

I'd also like some pastels.
Not the kind that you see on homely babies with rich parents. But kind of like that.

I want Peter Jensen. I didn't care for it back in September, yes, I remember. But now I eat my words. You know who you are, and I'm sorry. You were right. Forgive me, but the weather is warm now, and I need something real dapper for when I ride the hog with Willy. Albeit, not conventional hog riding clothes, but pretty and weather-appropriate nonetheless. Two outa three aint bad.

And, after all, hindsight is always 20/20. Especially with my sunnies and a helmet on.