Loudly groaning at the sound of my dreaded alarm, I crawl my way out of bed, and slam the “off” button on my alarm clock. Slowly wondering why in the world I went to bed so late last night, I climb back into my bed hoping to catch a few more Z’s. Not being able to sleep, I rise again and open my blinds, only to find a dark, gloomy day outside my window. Despite the cheerless weather, I hope for a positive morning.
As I open my mirrored closet door, I am overpowered by the immense amount of clothes in it. Picking out the perfect outfit is the most crucial component of my day. With endless yawns and sleepy eyes, I begin to reach and look through the main component of my outfit: my shirts. Knowing that I need to look somewhat presentable, I reach and grab my favorite Juicy Couture shirt and hold it up to admire its perfectly embroidered fabric. As my half-opened eyes look upon it, they reach a small dab of something. But what? A stain?! Must have been the nasty mustard on that hot dog last week. Ew!
As a naturally quick-witted person, I cannot help but venture whether I can conceal the small, but noticeable stain. As I put on a comfortable pair of Hollister jeans, I come up with the amazing idea of covering up the stain with a scarf. So thrifty. As I reach to grab my favorite fuchsia scarf, it gets stuck on a metal hook, and the thread unwinds fully. Great, just my luck.
Of course there is a fix to every little problem; I try on my red scarf with the simple, but cute shirt. An annoyed smirk slowly appears on my face as I hate the combination of what I am wearing. Why does an outfit have to determine my mood for the day? I believe it is clearly because when you feel your best, you are your best. Hating the fact that my morning is not shaping out to be the most positive, I stomp my way to the bathroom wearing a plain t-shirt that I despise.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I take a look in the mirror only to see a tired, unappealing reflection looking back at me. Luckily, an easy fix for this is makeup. Thankfully, my hair and makeup look decent enough to earn a few compliments. This t-shirt, however, was not going to cut it. Approaching my closet with a little more confidence this time, I play the 5-3-1 game.
Picking out five shirts, I veto four of them, and end up with a lucky winner for the day. Sounds pretty effortless, right? But I find out that my go-to shirts are all in the laundry basket.
Suddenly, a pink piece of fabric sticks out of the pile of clothes I hide on my bottom shelf as a result of being too lazy. What could this be? I reach out and grab it, when instantaneously I realize it is a brand new blouse I purchased a few months ago. I carefully put it on, being cautious not to accidentally accomplish something as catastrophic as ruining this shirt too.
As much as I enjoy looking my best, it takes a lot of hard work. This seems like a redundant routine teenagers have to go through in order to please their standards for themselves. In the middle of my day, I realize that going through all of that hard work was totally worth it.
