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Well, Don’t You Look Comfortable?


I don’t actually like clothes. I’m not saying I want to run around naked, because that would be horrible for everyone, but I’m just saying I really don’t enjoy the consideration of what to wear, especially if it involves matching, accessorizing or paying attention to current haute couture. I never think about what all of you all are wearing either. I would never say to someone, “That’s a cute shirt” unless perhaps there had been a precursory, “Hey, what do you think of this shirt?” beforehand. And seriously, no friend of mine would ask such a question because they’ve seen my face go red and heard the “uh, uh, uh….” answer I generally give if asked to offer clothing input.

My clothing aversion stems from childhood battles that go back to the70’s. It started with a pair of black ruffled panties (so many stories do start that way, don’t they?). I was 2–years old, and I’m fairly certain I was supposed to want to wear those big-girl panties instead of a diaper. Well, I kicked my mom on the face while she was trying to put them on me, a fact I only remember because the story was recounted every time my mom and I went clothing shopping together. Something along the lines of, “You never like what I pick out for you, why, even when you were 2-years old, I had these cute panties with ruffles all over the bottom, and you, you kicked me! In the face!” Sorry mom, but those were some ugly panties.

My mom didn’t give up easily, despite the foot to the face incident. Maybe if I’d had a sister she would have let me off the hook and worked on her instead, but I’m the only daughter, her only hope. She succeeded in making me wear a white first communion dress and I know she marked it down on her daughter-dressing-appropriately-girly tally sheet as a day of success. I’m sure I did it for God, not her. I’m pretty sure they told me I could not be a Catholic if I did not wear that ruffled, itchy white dress and stand quietly and daintily with my new rosary and bible, looking angelic but internally fuming. After I took that dress off, the fashion war between my mom and I really began, each of us claiming tiny victories and suffering disappointing setbacks in the clothing battle of my youth.

My mom would say she knew what was best for me, and that I had no style, but she wore muumuus, so I think I could convince a jury to take my side.

When I was 6-years old, I found a pair of my brother’s corduroy Toughskins and claimed them as my own. The knees were still stiff but they were oh so comfortable. They were blue and broken in and when I wore those pants I thought there was no cooler kid in the world than me. I could do anything, be anything, run faster, and jump higher. I decided to wear them for the rest of my life. And then, they disappeared. I know my mom took them, but I have no proof. Then, to pour salt in the MIA pants wound, she bought me an ugly yellow pantsuit with cows all over it and told me I could not go on the field trip to the zoo unless I wore the horrible outfit. What can I say, we were travelling to the zoo on a double-decker bus. I conceded.

After the pantsuit embarrassment (I don’t even like typing ‘pantsuit’ honestly), I claimed my own victory. I needed new shoes and I broke her down with daily pleading for the can’t-live-without pair: Wallabees (it was the late 70’s, what can I say?). I thought I had the upper hand on the clothing battle after I got my shoes, but when I boldly told my mom I wanted a pair of red Dee Cee overalls for the first day of 4th grade, she retaliated with pink plastic short alls. “What, those are overalls!” she told me when she saw my crestfallen face. I actually cried over those ugly overalls, because I believed her when I came home that summer day and she told me she put the overalls I wanted on my bed. I shoved them in the bottom of my underwear drawer, and never wore them.

The overalls incident gave me new resolve. She offered up knickers and knee socks and I told her I’d not be caught dead in that outfit. She suggested turtle necks and I laughed at her. She even had the nerve to tell me that she thought culottes looked like cute idea for me. Was she nuts? Did she know me at all? I begged for Shrink-to fit-501s for the first day of 6th grade, and she actually took me to Miller’s Outpost for them. She even threw in a few button up shirts. I knew I had won the battle, but eventually we both won the war because she gave up and let me be myself. Hallelujah. Thanks Mom.


In other news, 41 is going to be fine, just like 40 was fine and 39 was fine. I have noticed though it’s getting harder for me to clothing shop as I get older. Which for me means nearly impossible. I went to the mall yesterday with the bootie boy and the make-up kiosk chicks were missing me. I mean “Miss!” “Miss!” Miss!”-ing me. “Miss, can I ask you a question about your make-up routine??”  Ugh. NO, not even if you call me Miss like I’m 15-years old. Anyway, I needed shoes and had a surprise insurance refund check to spend on whatever I wanted, and you know what? I couldn’t find anything. The nice sales lady asked “How can I help you?” and I wanted to say, “Listen, do you have shoes that make me look tall and thin and young but not like I’m trying too hard to look  young, you know what I mean? I want shoes that are comfortable because sometimes my feet hurt, but not ugly and nothing that says ‘tone-up’ or ‘shape up’ on the box and do you think I can pull off Vans with red flames at my age?” Instead I just told her I was in a weird shoe-buying space and headed off to Cinnabon. Today I went to DSW and got shoes that can be described as sensible, but the Vans are still waiting for me. I’m getting ’em.

My new favorite blog:

It fits 2012, my year of letting things go.

10 Comments leave one →
  1. 02/02/2012 9:57 pm

    Yes!!! I want some Vans with flames!!!

  2. Gayla permalink
    02/02/2012 10:01 pm

    FYI…pantsuits are baaaaack in style my friend. Just ask Heidi Klum.

    • 02/02/2012 10:50 pm

      Noooooo! Let’s go back to making them illegal everywhere, not just congress. You rock Dolly.

  3. 02/02/2012 10:02 pm

    Plaid. My mother always wanted to put me in plaid. And I still have nightmares about the red high water jeans with a crotch down to my knees.

  4. 02/03/2012 5:43 am


    2 things…
    1, first rule of shopping… when you have money to spend you can NEVER find things to buy. EVER. It’s when you don’t have money, and go shopping because thats when you will love everything and it all will fit. perfect.

    and 2. …just buy the Vans…. “Do it now!! Do it!! Do it!! Sometimes.. late at night, I can still hear the screaming!…”

    • 02/03/2012 3:43 pm

      That’s cuz sometimes I yell it through the wall at night just to freak you out…
      Okay, I am GETTING the Vans!

  5. 02/04/2012 4:32 pm

    Just get ’em chica….even us gurlies that like fashion, go through some of the same traumas. ie Does this dress, that I love with my whole entire heart, make me look like the side of a ….. just because the stripes go horizontally???? Will people be whispering behind my back, get the fashionistas after her!!!! Will I be hijacked by my daughter because I have refused to wear a bra again???? Fudge it….just do it!!!!
    Just the other day I became a fashion rebel at work and wore jeans on THURSDAY….I will probably receive a Fashion Faux Paux (sp?) ticket when I return to work on Monday.
    Oh wait, I just realized I made your writing all about me…..
    But….was that a text to self connection I just made????
    GAWD…it has been a hard week at school.
    Sorry again.
    Love you, and whatever you decide to wear. Flame ON SISTA!!!!

    • 02/06/2012 4:06 pm

      Ha ha. You broke the cardinal rule of critique! It’s all too complicated really, the fashion thing, but thanks for the flaming vans encouragement my friend 🙂

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