She ran to her bed and held her chest. Too much to worry about. Shoes. What shoes to wear? Her heart pounded with so much force that her whole upper body shook. The seconds arm on her clock continued to move. “I can’t sit.” She jumped and went to the closet. The magenta top didn’t match jeans. Hanger after hanger of clothes had nothing good. Off the shoulder shirts were so early 1982. A neckline too high or too low won’t work. White is too bland. Dark is too moody. Nothing in the dresser seemed right. How come she never bought the right top for such an occasion?
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