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The Branded Woman

She always looked beautiful, like she was ready to watch others get into the trenches. Her shoes looked of glamour and glitz, not appropriate for dirty work. On a Sunday, you could find her lost in her colorful wardrobe and layers of expensive makeup. Who was she really? My eyes couldn't see past the animal print and heels, to her heart. Not only was she fashion to me; she was superior fashion. If I was Walmart, she was Target. Maybe she didn't know how unappealing and undesirable I felt around her. Perhaps she wasn't aware that standing next to her in my jeans and Goodwill sweatshirt made me tug on my clothes and look down in insecurity. Was it her responsibility to adjust her own clothing choices to make me feel important? Does a Pastor's wife have to care about such an insignificant need of the women around her? You tell me.



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