As far as the gist of this post is concerned, I should have just clicked the reblog button but I couldn’t be bothered with WP niceties.
I’m not the sort to plan and iron my work outfits for the entire week on a Sunday, that type of deliberation on my part can only mean one thing- that I might be PMSing. Well, I simply open the clothes basket just before my shower and one of two things will happen:
- The stars align and I find all the pieces that interlock perfectly to create a great outfit, or
- I convince myself that I’ve nothing to wear even when I’m clearly surrounded by clothes.
This morning, I was looking for something to wear and I came across a skirt that reminded me of a rather delightful incident that happened over a year ago.
So, after hours of back-breaking and finger-numbing sewing, I’d finally completed this cute skirt. I could not wait to show it off at work, it was ideal for Casual Friday. The perfect Friday arrived and that morning I picked a blouse that matched it wickedly.
Little did I know that the Devil was working overtime without pay and it wasn’t even Friday the 13th. Whilst ironing said skirt, I got distracted by some noise and didn’t realise how hot the iron had become.
When I looked down ehn, the conspirative iron had “inhaled” (that’s the only way to describe it) a 3 by 3 inches section of my never-been-worn-outdoors-before skirt. A tatty-edged hole stared right back at me defiantly.
Ah! It felt like a dream within a dream.
I shut my eyes tightly. When I finally opened them, the unfortunate hole seemed to be daring me to do my worst. I chanted “This. Did. Not. Happen” about 10 times. But alas… It. Did.
Oh! I burst into bitter tears and wailed “Sweet baby Jesus, but why?” I even pleaded for a time-reversal miracle. I also tried to bribe God at this point. “If you make this go away, a shiny halo will float above my Brazilian weave forever and ever”.
I replayed the moments before and after the horrific event- rewind, play, pause, fast-forward.
As I am wont to do when unpleasant things happen to me, I wondered if this was payback for something naughty that I’d done. Then I proceeded to recollect what I could have possibly done, that was weighty enough to deserve such a heart-breaking punishment. Hmm, nothing came to my mind that fine morning.
Finally, still hiccuping with sobs, I wore the Agbádá of Acceptance and shook off my sadness like it were a side-hug from an unwanted toaster. A shaky smile slowly appeared on my face as I walked to my bedroom mirror, then I looked myself straight in the eyes and belted out ♫I will survive ♫ like a 100% scripture-assured diva.
Thankfully I had leftover fabric, so the next day I redeemed the persecuted skirt using a determined cut-and-patch technique that would make even the highest rated Hollywood plastic surgeon green with envy. The day after, I wore the skirt like a silken badge of resilience. Testimony time! Blessing time!!
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, abi? 🙂