A Funny Thing Happened On the Way Home From the Gym

Sometimes, no matter how well I plan my clothing for the day, I end up with dilemmas like the following:

I was at my gym today, preparing to walk home after getting out of the shower. Suddenly, I realized that the overshirt I had been wearing that day was made of blue silk. On top of that, it happens to be a shirt that I'm particularly proud of because I bought it from a high-label store (which shall remain nameless) for an outstanding deal. I mean really outstanding. And as anyone who exercises his or her primitive hunting instinct while shopping will tell you, this shirt's value now goes way beyond its wearability. Plus, it is a gorgeous deep aquamarine blue. (For anyone who thought that I only pondered sociological and political dilemmas, you can now see that I am well-rounded.)

So, as I'm standing in the locker room getting ready to leave, a memory flashes into my head of my mother telling me that water (such as that from wet hair) will ruin silk. Although I'm usually the type of person that doesn't pay attention to such warnings and ends up with a spotted shirt, I am recently on a new kick of trying to learn from past mistakes. So I didn't want to kill the shirt.

The problem was, my shirt underneath was tight, black, and sleeveless. I was faced with a choice: (potentially) destroy my new, beloved shirt OR walk home showing my shoulders to the world. Luckily Shmeisani is a decently liberal area - probably one of the most in Amman - or I don't know if I would have considered option B at all.

I decided, what the hell, I would save the shirt and take the walk. I estimated that I only had about seven minutes on busy roads (where catcalls, etc are more likely), before I got back into more residential streets for another seven minutes of walking. How bad could it be? I asked myself. And maybe I was worrying too much anyway. Mine wouldn't be the first shoulders shown in this part of the city.

I told myself it was like an experiment, and I would keep count. Apart from the normal whispers or glances that I get when I walk - I don't think these counted, since they happen anyway - I only had two cars stop and honk during my seven minute walk. Although one of them did stop and roll beside me for a bit, the guys yelling something about "lahme," which means "meat."

I never really felt unsafe, though, and I was happy that I didn't ruin my shirt. I guess I learned a lesson about always keeping a little scarf/shawl in my purse, as one's carefully calculated wardrobe in Jordan can easily go awry...