First the bright spot.
I did my Burdastyle seminar on Thursday.
I just had a blast. There is nothing like a captive audience of folks to listen to your opinions about interfacing and pressing to give a girl a good time.
Really I just loved it and am looking forward to one on knits next month and sleeves in November. I have so much I want to say about sewing and this is another way to have that conversation.
I am thrilled.
O.K. on to the dark spot.
Today the husband and I were in a golf tournament where if there had been a prize for the worst drives our foursome would have won, at least my end of the foursome.
Afterwards there was a lunch and because it a husband's work thing there were draws and prizes throughout the meal and since they are all in the engineering field the grab bags contained knives, flashlights, and golf balls with the big door prize a set of cordless drills. They kind of threw the prizes around and said "OK if you are finished eating see you next year." Let's say it was not exactly run like a shower if you get my drift. I thought it was hilarious and the man holding tightly onto his ticket to see if he won the drills didn't see what so funny.
But it was. If you were me it was.
Back to the dark spot.
Every foursome had their pictures taken. I looked at ours there I was black shoes, jacket, and pants. I looked like someone who was there to park your car.
It was at that moment that my style came to its final screeching halt.
For my whole working life I have been a black basic sort of girl.
There is always something to go with something and there is always a black version of whatever you want to buy.
It made packing for business trips a breeze and accessorizing a snap.
It made it easy to go to New York.
I knew what to wear to a black tie and to an office party and a funeral and a speech.
According the lady who did my "colours" in my mom's living room in 1978, black is my colour and I have been working around it ever since.
The problem is.
I look like someone you would give the keys to.
I look dull and lifeless.
I look like I am wearing a uniform for a company at which I am not the CEO.
I look like someone else and not like me.
So the black has to go and leave me behind.
But how exactly am I going to do that?
What about the twenty pairs of black shoes?
The black leather bags?
47 yards of black you know what?
The question is:
For me what is the new black?