"He said you're his girlfriend."
I was aghast. First, I hear that I'm working for the C.I.A. and now this. I've got to start wearing nicer clothes for my casual wear.
Back when I was a teen, my mother despaired over my running errands in the island uniform of T-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops. "You never know whom you're going to run into," she lectured.
Until now, I always thought her concern over my leisure attire was motivated by her desire for me to marry well. Now, I see how clothing can be used as an exclusionary barrier. If I had been dressed up, instead of dressed down, when I encountered him at the convenience store I frequent, that he might have been able to pass himself off as my boyfriend to the store employees shouldn't have ever crossed his mind.
But, then, the idea that I work for the C.I.A. shouldn't have, either. At least, my wearing nicer clothing would have made his lie less believable because of a greater contrast to his dirty-gray T-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap. That he's been gone for several months, arrested for credit card fraud according to the grapevine, and I'm hearing of his lies about me only now gives me pause, "Did they believe him?"
Think about it. Americans are notorious for dressing poorly, but even our casually-attired society in which anything goes has standards that may be construed as uniforms.
Is a young man wearing an oversized T-shirt, baggy pants, and athletic shoes more likely to ride a skateboard or a horse?
Is a woman wearing something tight, low-cut, and short more likely to be advertising her body or her brain?
When you see a couple, is it more likely that their clothing matches in quality or does one member typically wear better clothes than the other?
Yes, appearances can be deceiving. If Adam and Eve hadn't been cast out of Eden, we'd all be naked, having to actually talk to get to know one another instead of making snap judgments based on the pieces of fabric that cover our bodies.
Genesis 2:25. And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not
ashamed.
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