Wearing White After Labor Day

(Written on Tuesday)

Yesterday was Labor Day.  Today there were more than 100 degrees dancing through Tucson.  

TBG needed a sweatshirt at lunch; he's happily taking his hormonally challenged temperature regulator out these days.  I wore a short-sleeved, light knit sweater and cotton shorts; black shorts, not the white skirt I left hanging in my closet.   

I really like that skirt.  I spent all summer wishing I were wearing it, but it is not a comfortable sitting in the hospital skirt.  Now, when I have the time and the company, the calendar is screwing with me.

I wear outfits that Little Cuter describes as Mom, the world needs more people like you... through her laughter.  If it's comfortable I'll wear it, no matter that I bought it for Big Cuter when we were same size (he was in 5th grade).  I'm not really a trendy girl.

But there are certain things that were repeated over and over again when I was a little girl, and the one about white and Labor Day seems to have stuck.  

There were rules that were beginning to change in the 1950's.  I wore white or cream colored gloves when we went into The City.  So did Nancy Drew, my favorite literary sleuth.  Little Cuter thought it was a mistake when the illustration showed the young heroine driving, her convertible's top down, and short gloves on her hands.  She doesn't need gloves.  It's summer.

Reading aloud took a small detour to Mom's closet where a treasure trove of delicate leather gloves were unearthed.  Skeptics abounded until presented with unequivocal proof.  

A classmate was gently reprimanded when she wore pants underneath her skirt on a frigid Friday in first grade. That no pants for girls policy held until Spring Semester of my Senior Year.  No visible bra straps or boys' boxer shorts would have been unthinkable when I was growing up; no one would have dared to display their underwear in school.

My mother asked me to wear jeans with no holes when visiting Daddooooo's parents because I just can't have one more thing for her to carp about.  That was a reasonable request, one I felt comfortable making with my own children.  We all have our you can help by not adding to the chaos moments; those who love us understand and willingly comply.  

But what about that niggling little voice in my head, the one saying Labor Day was yesterday, girl.  Get with the program.  I, who answer to no one about my attire, left my white skirt folded to be stored until Memorial Day.  

Why does it have such power?  

It sends me back to my mother and my aunt and my cousin and her older girl cousins and discussions about nail polish and propriety and clothes and why in the world did she....... 

Maybe I'll concentrate on that side of it.  It's probably time to stop mourning my white skirt.