Colour complex

As I get older I find myself striving to simplify my life. The less mundane decisions one needs to take, the more one can focus on the things that matter. (Like food.)

I thought I had one such decision licked.

White shirts are a wonderful solution to the matutinal problem of what to wear to work. They go with anything, they suit any occasion, they can look smart or scruffy as the situation demands.

However, they are unequal to the task of coping with the rigours of the wash and iron cycle. On returning from a recent vacation I took an inventory of my white shirts and discovered that all save one of them have acquired the ugliest of spots in the unlikeliest of places. I could understand this if I made a habit of feeding my shirts while feeding myself. But the blemishes appear at the collar-tips, the cuffs, the back and other places normally inaccessible.

So, with great sadness, I have given up one simple solution in my life and have reverted to coloured shirts. And my mornings are sartorially confused.