A lighter shade of pale

The seasons have changed.  I know this because of what happened two minutes before I absolutely had to leave the house for work.  This may be frightening for some of you, so if you are faint of heart or ever so slightly squeamish, you may want to skip this one.

This is a late day, one in which I begin work at five in the afternoon.  This is nice because there is all kinds of time to get lots of chores done that haven't been getting done because I have a cold and feel sorry for myself - or just because I haven't felt like it.  This is not nice, because by five o'clock I have put in a solid day's work, and then have to go to work.  Ah, well.

One of the productive things I did was roughly 65 pounds of laundry.  This involves creeping down the fire escape in my scary I'm-gonna-plummet-to-the-ground yoga pants that are constantly trying to tangle my feet in their flappy legs with a heavy laundry basket, around the corner of my building, through the parking lot and through the heave-it-up cellar door, down a flight of stairs into the basement... as many times as I have loads to do.  This detail is important because I washed every pair of trousers I own but one; thusly, I mentally prepared myself to wear a floaty black skirt, purplish top with a dark grey shruggy, and purple suede shoes.  These details are also important.

I was so productive and felt such a glow of accomplishment, that after the chores were duly done and I had completed the necessary ablutions, I lay myself upon my bed for a wee nap, setting the alarm to wake me in time to throw on the above imagined outfit and scuttle off to serve my community by showing them where the latest James Patterson novel is shelved.

Alas.  I was all set, or so I thought, but on gathering keys and coat to leave, I passed by a floor length mirror.  What I saw there caused me to shriek:  pale, white, almost translucent legs framed between a black skirt and dark purple shoes.  Horrors!  There was no way I could inflict such a sight on the kind people of New Town.  But the clock is ticking, what do I do?  Tights?  Too terrible to think of just yet. Different skirt which would entail an entire change of outfit? Quickly as I could, I traded skirt and supporting garments for socks and slacks - the one pair I hadn't washed today.  Having them on me, I remembered me why I hadn't had to wash them: I don't wear them.  They are meant to be warn by someone three feet taller than me. I couldn't wear my sweet purple flats unless I found a pair of bicycle clips to hold up my pant legs, or pretended treading on one's trousers is really very normal... among short people.  There was nothing for it, I had to wear shoes with a heel.  That is why now I'm sitting at the desk at work, praying nobody will need me to get up and walk, as I am completely and utterly out of heel-walking practice after a summer of flip flops and sandals.

And that's how I know the seasons have changed.