I've Become My Mother

I have lots of cute sundresses.  I have yoga pants of all lengths and colors.  All my shorts, save one, pull up comfortably over my hips and stay there, without a fastener of any kind.  My two favorite skirts have wide elastic bands that expand and contract with every breath.

Nothing constricts.  Nothing pinches.  Nothing requires more than a tug or two to settle into place.  I have wraps and necklaces and earrings that don't annoy me.  

I see no reason to change this. Ever.

And then I thought of the clothes in my mother's closet.  Her wardrobe during the last few decades of her life included nary a zipper nor a snap.... except the ones on her bra, at which she cursed while fastening it in front and swiveling the damn thing around to its proper position.  We never talked about it.  I wonder if she, too, realized that life was too short to worry about buttons on your bottoms.

Or, perhaps, it was totally an issue of comfort.  She always looked put together; those matching jogging pants and jackets of the early "90's  had her name written all over them.  Her sweat pants kept her warm in the winter and her elastic waist jeans protected her aging skin while she gardened.  All her tops were long enough to prevent an errant glimpse of skin; none of them were ever tucked in.

I don't remember her ever complaining that her outfit was uncomfortable.... even after Thanksgiving or Pesach or the first bbq of the season.

 

Once again, I'm realizing just how smart my mother really was.  

I gave away my high heels.  I think it's time to move on to those pesky zippered pants.