For most of my life I have hated dresses. I am a pants and blue jeans kind of gal. I don’t consider myself a feminine girl. Fashionable or trendy at times but not feminine. Don’t get me wrong – I am not a tomboy. I was never good at sports. I like the occasional ruffle. I wear pink on a regular basis. I occasionally daydream about little blue boxes with the perfectly tied white bow. But I’m not a big fan of the dress!
My mom LOVES dresses. She thinks blue jeans are horrible and rough to the skin. She wears more pants now than she used to but mainly because we have a hard time finding belted dresses for her petite frame. When I was about 5 or 6 years old, we went to Dillard’s to shop for an Easter dress. This was when Park Plaza was still a shopping center with a bowling alley, waterfall and the fish pond (if you have lived in Little Rock long enough, you remember!). It was the early 80s and I wanted a cool drop waist dress. I think it had a bow around the drop waist but no ruffles or lace. I’m pretty sure it was pink. Girly, right? My mom picked out a ruffled explosion that make me look like a midget square dancer. And it was a weird mauvey, taupe color. And a bolero jacket. I hated that dress. I think I ended up wearing it several times because my mom loved it so much. Needless to say my true rebellion in high school was my refusal to wear dresses and thanks to the revolution called Grunge, I purchased a pair of mail man shoes from the local Army surplus store. My mother called me her son, Heath.
So why do I now own half a closet full of skirts? I have bought more skirts in the last five months than I have owned in my adult life. And I wear them! The next thing you know, I’ll be knitting myself a skirt. Maybe it is my way of growing up. I no longer need to rebel against my mother. I can embrace my feminine side. I can love my legs and be comfortable with them. Quite an achievement for 36, right?