Clash

I hate mornings. They’re always the same. I wake up to one of my parents yelling that I have ten minutes to get my butt in the car. I get up, brush my teeth, get dressed, put on the minimal amount of makeup I wear, and eat breakfast on my way out the door. Somewhere near the end of that process, my brain starts to kick in and I begin to resemble a conscious human being. However, there are times when that happens a bit too late, leaving me with minor – or sometimes even major – fiascos. The funniest stunt I ever pulled, however, was near the beginning of seventh grade. My family moved to Maine the summer before, and my dad got a job as the gym teacher for a tiny, out-of-the-way school in Palermo. Aside from the fact that I’d always thought Palermo was in Sicily, I absolutely didn’t fit in at a place where most people knew each other since they were in diapers. I was… eccentric, for lack of a better word, but mostly, I didn’t care. The way I saw it, I was from Europe – that alone gave me leeway to be different. I also wasn’t very used to public school – having been homeschooled for the better part of my school career – so I just wasn’t used to concepts such as always looking your best. My common method was to simply grab whatever clothes were within reach, make sure they matched somewhat, and throw them on. Sadly, in my state of semi-somnic unawareness, that wasn’t always the best plan.

I opened my closet, kicking a pile of clothes out of the way. Reaching in tiredly, I grabbed the first pair of pants I found: my plaid slacks. Something in the back of my mind protested, but I wasn’t awake enough to notice. The pants were clean, they were comfy, and I just happened to like plaid (another fact that slipped my mind was that this did NOT apply to clothing). From the upper shelf, I selected a long sleeved black shirt to match. Finally, I stared at my pile of sweaters. Let’s see… brown, black, or white, maybe even red… aha! Right on top of the pile, in perfectly corresponding colors, was my brown and black striped turtleneck sweater. Ideal. Now for a cup of coffee….

Someone must have really hated me that day. I put on my jacket before getting in the car, and conveniently, no one saw me before I did. It was only when I was out on the playground before school started, sitting lazily on the tire swing, and discarded my jacket that consciousness hit me forcefully, by way of April’s voice.

“Um… Anna? Why are you wearing plaid and stripes?”

Oh….



I wish I could say that I learned my lesson and fit in a little better after that incident. However, being me – that dangerously deranged German girl – there really wasn’t much hope for that. I did avoid any further wardrobe fiascos - I discovered it was better to choose an outfit the night before – besides the intentional one, when I cheerfully re-played the event on Mismatch Day. But I suppose I’m doomed to always appear more or less eccentric. It’s just how I am. I striped heart and a plaid mind. Just your average oxymoron.