When I was little, we moved off the farm and into the city and mom made me wear dresses all the time. Short ones. Remember Cindy Brady? That short.
I wanted jeans. The cousin, who supplied all my clothes, passed down a pair of embroidered jeans. I wore them until they disappeared. When I was in 6th grade, my mom bought me a pair of ‘straight leg’ jeans. In seventh, Hazel took me shopping to dress me like I belonged to someone. I came home with Calvin Klein Jeans. Shortly, I’m not exactly sure when, Levi’s Shrink-to-Fit 501s came in style.
And stayed awhile.
Through the years, my mom did a lot of things to give me a better education than she’d had. We lived in better neighborhoods with better schools. She kept me in church; finally finding the Episcopalians, with alcohol in church and being cool with divorce and incredible networking. I sang in their whizbang choir and my fellow singers were from the best neighborhoods and attended the best private schools. We attended the arts festival
for the egg rolls. We went to the ballet. We ate at the Magic Pan and shopped (without buying) at high fashion shops.
It was bread and meat to a girl who couldn’t have extra-curriculars because working moms couldn’t pick kids up from practices and needed to spend their money on nachos and vodka (that’s her story and she’s sticking to it).
When I was about 11, this guy decided he was going to get to her by spoiling me (WRONG TREE!!! WRONG TREE!!!). He profiled me– reader, straight As, wearing rags but knows where Balliet’s is. And sent me subscriptions to Smithsonian and W.
When I began to dress myself I was strictly tailored.
My soul wears navy blue and pearls. It believes the rules are there to help us live like civilized human beings. Manners are to help others feel comfortable; not to manipulate them into pretending you aren’t being ungracious (Target Line Cutter Lady, I am talking to you). Education doesn’t stop at the 3 Rs, but extends to the arts and culture.
When I was in high school, I heard stories of wild parties. I never was invited to one.
I dated a college guy at the end of my senior year. On the outside, he was all conservative Republican, Son of a Fundamentalist Preacher. On the inside, he was a monster.
Navy blue and pearls girl may have gotten a little damaged.
Lesson learned: The outside is for your mama, the preacher, and the person who watches
rated R movies but condemns people who curse. The inside is what you are. It’s what monsters want to destroy.
One day when I was wearing my navy blue and pearls, my jeans got a little rip. I liked the little rip. Eventually, I’d find a best friend whose jeans had a little rip, too.
When I was in college, I wore my Rockies or my Wranglers when I was feeling like flying my freak flag. Which good girls aren’t supposed to have. But I do.
Jesus knows about the freak flag.
He made it,
so I would not have to carry my own books.
I lavishly adore buttoned down; it goes so well with barefoot, ripped jeans, and hair loose.
Because grace is sometimes gritty and perfect love sometimes sees you in your lucky pants.
I am linking this post with PYHO @ Things I Can’t Say.