The three of us lounged in chairs outside, soaking up the sun on the absurdly warm Shabbos afternoon.
“You know,” I commented, “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone walk past in anything but black.”
My companions sigh and shake their heads. “It’s terrible. In the frum stores they don’t sell anything but black.”
“My friend’s cleaning lady asked at what age do girls have to start wearing black.”
“Someone in the supermarket asked me if we have to wear black.”
“It’s really terrible how it looks.”
“I don’t know why everyone wears it.”
“Well, it’s slimming. And easy to match.”
Agreement all around. This black business was out of hand.
I shifted in my chair, sweating lightly. The sun was getting unbearably hot, even for me in my spring beige. For my companions, dressed all in black, it must have been searing.