Some days, I tumble out of bed, late by a crucial five minutes, and stare at all the clothes crammed into my two shelves, wondering what to wear that I haven't worn in a while.
Sometimes, I wear the same pair of pants for a week, every day, because I'm either too late or too lazy to find anything new.
Some days, I miss the uniform.
Sure, I've left my school days behind, and the grey uniform with them, but there is something to be said for the comfort that a uniform offers you. Button up the shirt, pull the pinafore, fresh from mom's iron, over your head, and you're good to go. No need to stand before the mirror wondering if this shirt goes with these pants and whether I need leggings with that skirt. No worries about whether you looked femme or butch or cool or funky. The uniform was cool.
Yes, we did crib about the length of the skirt, and we did crib about it being a pinafore instead of a skirt-and-shirt. We'd wear them loose, with the waistband cradling our hip bones, a few inches hacked off the skirt. Socks carefully folded close to the ankles. This took a mere five minutes, and I'd have time for a real breakfast.
I wouldn't want college to have a uniform, obviously, because that time is gone. Just saying, I shouldn't have cribbed so much when I had to wear it, because when you're in uniform, there isn't much room for a fashion faux pas.
Taken from something that the girl in uniform up there said to me yesterday.