OK, so I am forty-six years old. A mature woman to be sure, yet far from old and in my case even middle age. You see I am a late bloomer. A very late bloomer encasing an old soul. Anyhow when it comes to our age, mother is neither here nor there. We are her children and it is her right to say whatever she wants. And she does. On a regular basis.
Mother dear has her priorities straight. Always, always always always look your best. Slim is the only acceptable weight and secondly roll your hair. This is a sensitive subject with my sisters but I sure as heck do not have time for that now because I am going to tell you instead about mother's number one fashion rule, the day I bravely broke it and big surprise, surprise, surprise here. I got caught.
A lady should never wear pockets. And I mean no pockets. Not high pockets not low pockets not dark pockets or light pockets. No pockets. Ever.
Pockets enhance the proportions of your rear-end. They make your fanny look bigger than it is. She is right they do. Mother wants her daughters to look good coming and going. Period. Curly hair and a small butt.
I will give her this one, pockets are not my favorite. I lived without them for 46 years. Then last week I went school shopping for Hayley and Hannah, my adorable 13 year old twin daughters. Hayley was insistent upon me trying and buying a pair of Bermuda style jean shorts WITH POCKETS She was adamant that if I did not purchase them there was something wrong with me. Heck, what does it mean if I was afraid to even try them on?
I must have temporarily lost my mind but as I kept turning and looking I noticed they did look cute. I think.
Yesterday as we drove the long winding path from the main road, the girls simultaneously noticed mother. Grannanny was watering her luscious pink roses lining the front fence, white and picketed of course. We had to drive right past her to get home. It was make a u-turn or back up to avoid eye to eye contact and they were both viable options, because I had on the shorts. With pockets.
My palms always start to get wet when I'm rattled or nervous. Clutching the dripping wheel I could feel my pocket buttons nearly penetrating the stupid shorts, as unconsciously I was bearing my butt into the seat. It was too late to run for the hills as she is waving us over. And smiling. I did have on the shorts but I am not that brazen to turn and flee. Besides, the smile usually means you might not get insulted.
Pushing in the clutch we stop and the girls jump out to kiss their grandmother as she gently hands them each a flower, and they smile. I stayed right where I was.
I am suspect immediately. Watching the rear mirror as she slowly walks towards me adjusting the brim of her lovely hat. There is no denying her graceful beauty. Now I am focused on her eyes and have decided I am not getting out.
"Hello Ivey where have you girls been?" Guard up. Ass down. I answer "Just running errands. The roses look beautiful come on girls do you want to walk home or jump in the back?"
"Don't rush off" as she looks me up and down. "What are you wearing?" "Nothing mom I'm kind of in a hurry girls lets go." As the smile starts to descend she repeats herself "What are you wearing, are those new?"
Beyond irked, I stand up and turn to face her. Repeating myself quite insistent this time. "Girls! lets go!" They run towards us but mother is not to be deterred "walk over there and let me see the shorts....." Just cutting her off mid sentence with my hand in the air to stop, dreadfully I comply.
Trying to walk so she can't see the pockets she starts "Turn around, turn around, what is wrong?" Taking the path of least resistance, slowly I pivot, apologizing of sorts in antipathy "I know, I know, just don't say anything I have on pockets!" Quickly facing forward again, I start walking to the truck where the girls are taking in the scene, she is not satisfied.
"No" she exclaims, "Let me see again?" Completely given up I turn and stand waiting for the onslaught of how big my butt looks, however, noticing a peculiar puzzlement in her now lowered voice. Standing in silence the respite seemed long and curious. I wondered why isn't she saying anything, and then it came.
"Well" she exclaims in pure astonishment and thinly veiled disgust as I look over my shoulder at her ..... lingering for the fighting words........ I ask "What mother what??" A smile curls her face and she says "They don't look half bad............ almost cute........now that your ass has dropped."
