Attention fashion police

You know, there was a time I considered myself too fat to wear white.

Now I don’t care. I wear it loud and proud, tight or loose, and by golly, I’m wearing it after Labor Day too.

Lest you think I wasn’t raised properly and am unaware of the rules of etiquette, I do know it is forbidden to wear white after Labor Day.

Maybe in Oregon or Maine they can allow a calendar to dictate when they retire their white, but here in the Swelter Belt, I will decide when to pack up my white pants.

If it’s going to be just nigh of 100 degrees out, I see no problem with wearing white after the magical day. If it offends your sensibilities for me to do so, just avoid looking at me until the cooler weather comes.

photo: GraziaDressAU

Seriously, my late daddy (and mother) did raise my sister and me properly. We knew how to set a table, which fork to use, how to put a napkin in our laps. Our Saturday nights consisted of mother rolling our hair on those brush rollers and taking turns under the hood dryer, while dad sat in the floor of his closet polishing our Sunday shoes with his vast collection of shoe polish. Mom had a deal about dressing us alike for a time, which fostered the idea we were twins in certain circles. (This particular quirk I repeated with my own daughters. They say you act like your mother no matter what you do.)

There is the mistaken belief that if you are of the female gender, you automatically like to shop and are born knowing how to dress yourself. This, my friends, is just not true.

I have always wished that I’d taken up a profession that required a uniform, albeit a cute one. Trying to figure out what to wear each day is just more effort than I can muster in an area where I certainly have no creativity. Gone are the good old days when they would just let me wear jeans, boots and shirt and leave me alone.

So, I did what any normal person would do — I birthed my own personal dresser.

For years, this one daughter has helped dress me, as well as her sister. It worked well when we all lived together. But once we all began to live in separate residences, and their lives became busier, it is more and more difficult to schedule the shopping trips.

So alas, I am forced to purchase my own clothes from time to time.

If you see me with any glaring fashion faux pas, this is why. (Other than the white pants, I mean.)

However, I will promise to try to refrain from wearing my pajamas to Wal-Mart.

I am a victim of poor taste at times, and sometimes poor judgement.

But I was not raised without class.

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