Not a Thing to Wear

I’m almost sixty-four years old and I don’t own a dress.

There was a time in my life when I did have garments of such a decidedly feminine nature—back when I was about twenty-five, maybe. 

Don’t get me wrong.  I like dresses and sometimes find myself going through the dress racks at my favorite department store just to see what’s in style right now. 

I have even been tempted to try some on, although the gawd-awful lighting and fun house mirrors in the dressing rooms make the experience more of a psychedelic one than I would wish.

It’s just that at this point in my life, I really don’t need a dress.  I’m not a church goer (see The Orthodox Agnostic for more explanation on that) and I don’t have a paying job that I have to dress up for. 

The kindergarten kids I read to twice a week wouldn’t care if I came to our sessions in pajamas.  In fact, there is a Pajama Day at their school where everyone, including the teachers, wears his or her snuggliest jammies for a day. 

Is that a blogger’s dream or what?

At this stage of the game, I’m more into comfort than getting dolled up in a skirt or dress.  I have a lot of nice dark wash jeans (thank you Stacey and Clinton for the advice) and several pretty sweaters and tops so I always look put together when I have to go out in public.  

So it was amusing when my granddaughter asked me a probing fashion question the other day as we cuddled together on my couch, while watching “Ben 10 Alien Force” during our weekly Sugary Cereal/Cartoon Marathon at Memaw’s last week.

Most of her inquiries in the past have been of a theological nature, which always leave me squirming a bit as I try to walk that delicate line between not contradicting what her parents have been teaching her and my blurting out that Genesis is basically a creation myth. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m under the scrutiny of a miniature Torquemada—but one who’s much more adorable than the original, I can assure you.

This time, she kind of squinted at me with those sweet, green eyes of hers as she posed the question:

“Memaw, why don’t you ever wear a dress?”     

My answer was essentially what I’ve just been saying here; that I don’t really have the need for one and I like wearing pants because they’re comfortable and easier to get around in for what I have to do during the day.

She thought about that for awhile and then told me:

“I know when you can wear one.”

“When?” I asked, thinking she would say “to church” and that I would have to dance around that minefield once again.  Instead, she said:

“To my wedding.”

I smiled (and melted inside) and said:

“You got it!  I will definitely wear a dress to your wedding.”

My granddaughter is eight.

I figure I’ve got a good fifteen years before I have to start looking.

My very first artist trading card