In the summertime whenever the spirit moves me, I exercise my God given right that's somehow denied all other seasons, to wear white without the worry of breaking any ridiculous outdated fashion rule.
Yet, while that worry has dissipated, it's easily replaced by extreme paranoia about soiling my pristine outfit the moment I hit the streets, and is often coupled with regret about my color of choice.
Somehow, once confronted with the clean, crisp look of all white, I always forget all the anxiety and hyper-vigilance the outfit provokes.
Instead, I never think twice about wearing the fit. I take my chances, being cautious and scrutinizing everything I encounter along the way.
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