I have a middle-class American white boy penchant for matching my clothes. I’ve always done this. Mom encouraged it, conforming encouraged it and my wife encouraged it.
I was dismayed how easily I matched today in shades of gray and white – walking shorts, sweatshirt, shirt, shoes. Jaysus. Initiating a minor rebellion, I wore mis-matched socks: one is white, and the other is dark gray. Individually, each matches the ensemble, but not each other.
My choice pleased me but I admit to feeling a little askew. Then I wondered, who is going to notice this?
It’s been an hour. I walked half a mile, entered the coffee shop, visited with some friends, ordered my coffee, and bantered with the barista. Nobody has noticed my socks – or if they did, they didn’t comment on them.
I’m such a rebel.