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When in Rome…
I find myself rummaging through a suitcase in the guest bedroom of a quaint brick row home in Blackburn, England. My husband and I are visiting his relatives en route from New Jersey to Rome. I whip out a tank top and dash off to the bathroom. The reflection staring back at me is dressed for Rome and not for my husband’s ultra-conservative (albeit, lovely) burka and thobe-clad extended family. Had he only mentioned this little tidbit about our hosts, I wouldn’t find myself scrambling to adjust my wardrobe by slipping on my tank top backwards beneath my blouse. This subtle act of conformity does the trick though, raising both my neckline and my comfort level.