Being Extraordinary.

If I must apologize, then I guess that I must.

I am sorry if my choice of outfits have been offending anyone's sense of color scheme...or what may be perceived as a wardrobe malfunction - or the need to shield their eyes from what may seem to be be my attempt at competing with the sun.

For on Sundays.

I wake up and don my Sunday-go-to-meeting-best-outfit. Today, I tell myself, is the day the pastor decides to preach a sermon I really need to hear. 'Cause I only take my unbelieving, blaspheming self there every Sunday for pastor Johnson to one day tell me how I can get rich in mind and spirit. Maybe literally rich could also be included, if I behave quite well.

My outfit is a masterpiece of grandeur and questionable taste. The ensemble...a dazzling purple blazer, decked out with enough yellow to reflect sunlight so fiercely, birds may mistake me for a lighthouse.

Beneath it, a frilly, lace-trimmed red shirt...looks like it was stolen from a 17th-century aristocrat’s closet. My skirt is a mystery of fashion engineering: It is both velvet and shimmering like a disco ball in a nighttime discotheque.

The pièce de résistance? A wide-brimmed hat, large enough to double as a personal umbrella. It is held pinioned to my head by large clip-on bows with bells, just in case the wind decides to misbehave.

Now for my grand adventure, for surely today is the day that my dreams will come true.

Let me apologize if I seem a bit too overly confident.

I stride confidently down the street, catching the eye of every passerby---some in admiration, some in horror. A small child points at me and exclaims, “Look, Mum! A fabulous wizard from Harry Potter!” I take this as a compliment.

As I near the church, disaster strikes! A strong gust of wind picks up, and my enormous hat acts like a parachute, lifting me off the ground.

Mary Poppins would be so proud. Yet I must say sorry to the startled birds.

I flail my arms in an effort to regain control, but instead, I soar dramatically toward the church doors, arriving not by foot, but by an accidental and very stylish crash landing.

The congregation stares. The organist gasps. My hat, still jingling its cheerful little chimes, flies from my head and lands gracefully atop the minister’s podium.

I am so sorry, pastor...for the horrified silence which ensued.

Then, most surprisingly...a slow clap. Followed by another. Soon, the entire room erupts in applause---mistaking my unintended airborne entrance for a bold statement of divine intervention and heavenly enthusiasm. I’ve accidentally become a legend.

I must say a sincere 'sorry' to those still offended...but from that day forward, the Sunday-go-to-meeting-best-outfit was no longer just clothing. It was an experience...A movement. A legacy.

Monday.

I awaken with the ability to fly.

Who says miracles do not happen.

Tuesday.

I practice the fine art of soaring through the air, things break and I barely make it back to earth intact.

Wednesday.

I got a promotion.

Thursday.

I searched high and low for humility to find wisdom and understanding.

Friday.

I felt grounded and a little more tolerant...Beginning to understand, what being rich in mind and spirit really means.

Saturday.

I realize that I had always been exactly who I was meant to be. No sophisticated frocks or riches in abundance could daunt my spirit. Give and receive kindness in equal measure...life cares for the rest.

Ah! Sunday again.

What! A girl just gotta be herself.

I am sorry...but...I am not Dressed to impress...Or express.

Just dressed to be me.