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.