Let’s get this out of the way: I normally do not like skirts or dresses.
I don’t like wearing stockings. It’s really hard for me to find dresses that work with my body type, and skirts are ehh. You have to worry about how you sit, where you sit and whether or not you’ve shaved your legs. Still, I’ve been noticing a lot of people around here wearing flirty, long skirts. They all look great. Comfortable, relaxed, stylish — three adjectives that do not usually come to mind when people describe me. (My best descriptors are disheveled, sedate and conservative.) And I hate the connotation that comes along with a skirted garment: That the wearer is soft and a push-over, which is probably why I only own pant suits even to this day.
This weekend was the big opening day party at my beach club. (It’s not what you think; very casual and not expensive at all.) We’ve never been to this particular party, but at other beach club functions I always end up feeling like the burned out Christmas light bulb among the 100- and 200-watt bulbs. I just never stood out. So I went shopping to Marshall’s for something summery and fun. While I was there I picked up a pair of short leggings that I would pair, I assumed, with a long tank. (Totally trendy, I thought.) On my way out of the building, I spotted The Skirt, which I bought without even trying on.
It’s black cotton. A gauzy, tiered, flirty floor-length number. Something that’s usually pretty far out of my repertoire. But that day, feeling the way I did, I bought it.
I wore my leggings on Saturday night, and I looked pretty nice, I guess. On Sunday, though, when we got back from our beach day I broke out the skirt. My big girl approved immediately, offering an unsolicited, “Mommy, you look so pretty!” The little one also loves it, too. Since I only wore it for two hours on Sunday, I put it on Monday. I found out my little girl likes to watch me twirl in it. She giggles and twirls around imitating me. (Yes, I like to twirl in it. Want to make something of it? Skirt or no skirt, I know karate!) She even grabbed the hem at one point and sang an altered version of her mommy-and-me parachute song: “Take yer ‘lil hand and pop ‘em bubbles all on Mommy’s skirt.”
My husband, however, hates it. On Monday night he told me that it takes me from hot young MILF to old, boring granola woman who looks like she should have armpit hair down to her waist. (Did I ever mention how imaginative my husband is?!?) When I explained how comfortable and freeing it is to wear, he told me that he’d be more comfortable in baggy, ugly sweats but since he doesn’t live in his parents’ basement he doesn’t wear such things. And I shouldn’t, either.
I’d agree with him except it makes me feel good to wear it. This skirt…I love it because it makes me feel feminine and happy, and reminds me of when I was a little girl. When I am in it, I’m back there playing dress-up. I can pretend to be anyone I want. (And again, yes, there is twirling involved.) In that skirt I am Laura Ingalls and Scarlett O’Hara and Sara Crewe (Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess) all wrapped up in one. No, I’m not walking around role-playing, but when I walk downstairs and get the swish-swish feeling of the skirt on my feet I get a little giddy just for a second or two. And that’s pretty cool.
If you’ve read my blog for a while you know I am a fairly straight-laced, somewhat staid person. This skirt lets me get away from my head — even for a moment.
So here’s my dilemma: Do I continue wearing the skirt occasionally and make my husband throw up, or do I stow it away and miss out on the fun. Hmmm. I guess there’s a third option: Change out of it before he gets home from work, but I’m thinking that might be just too much effort. I want to feel like post-make-over Eliza Doolittle not Marion Cunningham. (Richie’s mom on Happy Days, for those of you who don’t watch TV Land.) Oh, well, there’s always his annual birthday Fire Island trip with his buddies. He’s gone for two nights…
What’s your guilty clothing pleasure? Also, do you criticize or have anything to say about your spouse’s or significant other’s clothing choice? How do you handle it?