I See A Biiiiiird...

Flash Back Friday

Y'all already know how crazy I am about clothes so can you imagine how I felt when I LOST ALL MY CLOTHES? No, I'm not just talking about the clothes off my back. I mean ALL MY CLOTHES.


It happened when I was sixteen. We lived in New Jersey but never considered ourselves Damn Yankees. My dad was from Kentucky, still owned a farm there and most of our family still lived in Kentucky. So we were Southerners to the bone. A couple years later, I went to the University of Kentucky, my family moved back to Kentucky and I never returned to New Jersey. And good riddance. And I am so sorry if y'all live in New Jersey. But come to Kentucky and you may never go back either. Anyway. I was sixteen and I lived for clothes. You may be asking how that is different from now and my answer is...well, it's not that different. I had a job at Mason's department store in the stockroom and every penny I made went towards buying new clothes. So, I had a lot of clothes. Darling clothes. Darling, I tell you.

Well, the time came for our summer vacation. Summer vacation for us normally consisted of either visiting family in Kentucky or my grandmother in Pensacola and this was a Kentucky summer. I had a boyfriend at the time and the thought of being separated from him for a week was just more anguish than my teenage heart could bear and my parents, taking pity on me and tired of hearing me whine, allowed Arthur to go on vacation with us. I packed up my suitcase with practically every stitch of clothing I owned (I still overpack.) and we got the car packed up. Arthur volunteered to tie our suitcases on the roof of the car. Carefully, he put them up there and looped the rope around and around, tying several tight knots.

And we set out for Kentucky.

Arthur and I were lying in the back and my two brothers were (fighting) sitting in the backseat. It was early and dark but as it got lighter and lighter and I got drowsy, looking out the back window, I noticed two birds fly by. Or I thought they were birds. I thought drowsily "Biiiiiirds..." and never thought another thing about it.

A couple of hours later, we stopped for a rest. And the suitcases were gone. GONE. They had blown off the top of the car. They were the two birds I had seen. You have never heard such weeping and wailing as I gave out when I realized my clothes were gone. My dad actually turned around and drove back for a couple of hours, looking for the suitcases. We stopped at a state police station and they assured us they would let us know if anyone turned them in. We headed back for Kentucky and I spent half the trip with my nose pressed against the window, looking for my precious clothes. But alas. They were never seen again.

Y'all. I had the clothes on my back. That was all. My darling gold culotte dress with the cunning little brown leather belt. My cocoa brown culottes (shut up, culottes were the RAGE) with the matching pink, brown and white striped sweater with the darling little cap sleeves. All my precious Bonnie Belle makeup. My many, many pairs of fabulous wedgie sandals. Gone. Gone. Gone.

It was probably the worst fashion experience of my life. Even worse than the time I got the blue jean skirt stuck on my hips in the dressing room and couldn't get it off and Liz had to help me. I still think about some of those clothes. And the person who must have picked up my suitcase. And kept my lovely clothes.


Curse them. May they get a blue jean skirt stuck on their hips in a dressing room and have nobody to help them and so they have to get someone to cut it off. Maybe even taking just a little tiny bit of skin with it.

Neatest Girl In 8th Grade

Flash Back Friday

So, I was reading this post about her daughter's obsession with clothes over at Big Mama the other day and it got me to thinkin'. You know how obsessed I am with clothes, shoes, earrings and all the accoutrement's which go along with projecting my image as a hot, middle-aged librarian with a poochy tummy that I cleverly conceal by never, ever, under pain of death, tucking anything in. But what you may not realize is that I have always been this way. Always.


One of my fondest memories involves being selected and denoted as such in the junior high year book as the neatest girl in the 8th grade. Now, you might be a little confused about the definition of "neatest" unless you are a baby boomer, like me. Back then, neat did not mean neat as in "You have such a neat desk!" but neat as in cool and groovy. Yes, we actually said groovy back then. And we often said things were neat. I sometimes find myself saying something is neat even now. Not groovy so much, though. That would really date me. I might have had stick legs and bangs in junior high as my husband often reminds me when I find myself getting just a little cocky, but I was dressed to the nines. And that expression dates me so much that I guess I don't have to worry about ever saying groovy again.


I had dozens of little mini skirts and matching sweaters and - here's the important part - my knee socks ALWAYS matched my sweaters. I even remember someone commenting on that one time. "Wow, your knee socks always match your sweaters." Seriously. I'm not making that up. That someone actually said that or that I remember it. I can't remember 99% of my childhood, but I remember someone commenting on my knee socks. And I wore those Mary Jane shoes that everyone was wearing back then. In hindsight, they were incredibly ugly and looked ridiculous on junior high girls, but they were in style, they were cool and groovy and neat and, damn, we had to have them!


So, basically, I was the be-all and end-all of fashion in my junior high. And I was voted accordingly. It's all in my permanent record. I can show you the yearbook if you don't believe me.

Fat Stripes

I had another wardrobe issue the other day. No, it wasn't a muffin top problem or a matching shoe issue or even a broken bra issue. I had a fat stripes issue. What? You don't know what fat stripes are?

OK, I have a little white, lace trimmed tank top that is really just a LITTLE bit too tight. It was a little snug when I bought it and, after being washed, it's really too tight. But it's just so cute. And I thought if I wore it under my new pink and white striped shirt with my pink capris (and pink shoes and pink earrings - but you knew that) it would be fine. I just wouldn't take off the shirt. Just the cute lacy front of the tank top would show. It would be fine. Just fine. Because it is actually one of those so tight, stretchy material tops that it stretches across the back and makes those fat stripes. You know what I mean. When the material stretches and makes those dents in your back fat and it looks like your back has fat stripes. You know. And if you don't, well you must have a smooth, slim, toned back. And I hate you a little bit.

So I looked good. I was set. All coordinated and pink and nobody would know I had fat stripes under my shirt. Until I got to school. And realized the air conditioning was not working again. I kept on my shirt as long as I could. But, at some point, it had to come off. And the fat stripes were out there for the world to see.

Luckily, school is out and there were only a few of us there that day. And I could put my shirt back on when I left. Because the fat stripes are not really something I wanted to share with everyone.


Just you.