Touch of Heaven

I walked through JC Penny on a whim the other day. (If you need perspective on the magnanimity of this whim, please talk to my mom or sister. It was random, and I can’t explain it.)

My MO for clothes shopping is to load up at the sale and clearance racks, and then hit the dressing room. While I may be very discriminate at first, I end up grabbing a gazillion choices by the time I hit that room. (After all, I don’t go through this process all the time. Might as well make the most of it, right?) Then starts the audition. (You know the process: take off, put on, hmmmm, turn around, take off, sort…)

It was in the middle of this clothing cacophony that I slipped on a black shirt. And it was like putting on a little touch of heaven. Seriously, it stopped me in my tracks. I didn’t realize how rough the other clothes felt until I felt the cool relief of this particular shirt’s touch. (In the other clothes’ defense: they weren’t rough. They were just normal.) It is by far the most comfortable shirt I’ve worn in a long time. I didn’t need to look in the mirror. I didn’t need to debate if this went in the “no way,” “maybe,” or “keep” pile. This one *had* to come home with me.

I want to be like that black shirt. A cool, comforting, refreshing presence. When I touch someone’s life, I want to be so dramatically different from the other clothes that they go “Ahhhhh. I don’t know what makes that shirt so special, but I know I need to have it in my life. Straight to the keep pile!”

A little touch of heaven.