If none of the other postings have.....this piece WILL cause some serious scandalous gossip. I love the word scandalous! One of my Joy~ful friends, reminded me recently of the term.....and it makes me feel like I am in Avonlea, with my bosom friends Anne (with an "e") and Diana, dodging the small town, tongue-waggers.
As most of my dear friends around me, would never admit to my face.....I am an unlikely source or spokesperson for fashion. If it wasn't for Sweet Biscuit and my other bestie from high school, American Beauty.....I would still be wearing 1990's jumper dresses and Sam & Libby flats. How these two gravitated towards me and my "fashion dont's" wardrobe is beyond me.
Sweet Biscuit is the perfect southern hostess who can kick out some serious biscuits and gravy.....all the while looking put together and perfect with the latest hair, make-up and styles, ready to go clubbin' uptown at Hot Mama's Cabaret. Last call is 8:30 p.m. ~ everyone has to catch the light rail, and get home to put their babies to bed.
American Beauty, in her own right.....and at any given point, looks like she just walked off the runway from the most recent fashion premier in New York City. She was voted best dressed in high school.....and every time we are together, I want to go home and throw all my clothes away and start over. More than once, she has given me emergency closet intervention, and helped put my clothes together into some semblance of order and outfits. R2D2 says there should be Granimals for adults. American Beauty is married to Rocky, who is a true blue Italian. (Yo! Rocko! You in the blog. How du ya like da blog?....eh?) They make for an extremely attractive couple.....the ones you rudely stare at, when you see them out in public. Anyway, more about her in a moment.
Now.....I am not going to hell in a hand-basket.....not because of who I am, but because of who He is..... (Ephesians 2: 8, 9). Yet, if I were to guess what "Gehenna" would be like for me, in my best human imaginations and limitations, it would be the junior high years. Those years were THE MOST grueling of all my life.....you couldn't pay me a million dollars to go through those two years of abominable abyss again.....EVER. My memory is wrought with deep-dark locker rooms.....jerky-jocks who haven't been introduced to perspiration prevention, and who pelt you hard, HARD, during dodge ball.....the clumsiness and lack of finesse when trying to manage the newness of womanhood that comes unexpectedly during school, and your mom has to come and rescue you....like a ga-ba-zillion times during the year. The transition within those changes of a young persons life, were so emotionally charged on so many levels for each of us, if our science teacher had lit a match under our rear ends, we would have been shot to the moon. Talk about rocket science. It was too much, simply too much. And poor American Beauty.....she was the gossip not of the mean girls, but the quiet kind.....of pity. She lived with her granny, who didn't allow her to shave her legs.....like until the ninth grade. It was horrid, HORRID for her. You know what hairy legs in pantyhose look like. More than I, can relate to this "diabolical" time.
It was the 80's.....and the culture and styles were so "parachutey", so many patterned sweaters, so neon, so synthesizer driven and so......So......SO much of a sensory overload. There was the blue eyeshadow and the hairspray. Oh man.....the hairspray alone coulda' kept the local orthopedic surgeon in business. Girls (including me) would spray so much Aqua~Net on our hair, it would be so heavy, that it was a miracle we weren't dealing with neck problems trying to hold our heads up under the weight of it all. But, I survived that season of my life and redemption surfaced so that I may spare others of the same terrors. From it, came fashion tips. I'll share a couple with you now.
Fashion Tip #1 ~ Don't wear your headgear if you have to go to the emergency room.
Okay.....so I had to wear that headgear contraption during the hideous junior high braces thing. I was a competitive gymnast and had a reoccurring ankle injury. It seemed quite regular, that I was having to go to the emergency room or physical therapy at the local county hospital. One of those trips was early on in the re-rigging of my mouth, and I had to wear the headgear.....ALL. THE. TIME. To school.....on the bus (which reminds me of Joan Cusack, and the character she played in the movie "Sixteen Candles".....PAINFUL)..... to the grocery store with R2D2.....everywhere. Anyway, one of the trips to the hospital resulted in me having to be on crutches. R2D2, who is dependent on the use of a wheelchair, and I......(on crutches and also wearing my headgear) got on the elevator to leave the hospital. When the doors opened, there was man standing there waiting to get on.....when he saw us, his eyes grew wide in shock, and he ever so startlingly jumped back. I recall wanting to tell him that we had just been in a train wreck.
Fashion Tip #2 ~ Don't shave your arms.
So.....Mac Daddy's side of the family is of the Hobbit origin.....shorter, hairy beings, keeping the keratinous filament removal business booming, without worry of a downfall in the current economy. The hairy-genetics didn't skip my generation, and it is impartial to gender. An eighth-grade girl and excessive hair will go to war.....and to war I went. On my arms. I just took my little pink Daisy Razor and wielded it with such confidence.....I was sure I had solved all my problems in this world.....not one of them being a clogged razor. The school dance was coming up and I would be free from any embarrassment, of a boy asking me to dance, and me reaching out to take his hand, and him being taken back (like the guy waiting for the elevator) by my manly arms. Nope. Not gonna happen. BUT, what did happen.....was that I was dancing with a bunch of girlfriends, and one of them took my arms to pull me into a line dance. She jumped back as if being electrocuted and asked loudly "DID YOU SHAVE YOUR ARMS?" Call the convent. I had decided immediately that I was going to be a nun. I am Protestant. Lock me up.....throw away the key. In my immaturity and lack of beauty tips, I just figured that once I shaved all the hair off my arms, it wouldn't come back. (I didn't put two and two together in reference to my legs.....which R2D2 had allowed me to shave since..... like..... fifth grade......because of my Hobbit origin. She didn't want me to be embarrassed.) That night on the dance floor, stubble had already began breaking surface on my arms.....no longer was it the downy softness. I should have left well enough alone. Instead, I was waving around two five o'clock shadows on that dance floor......I think I was secretly voted most hairy girl in my class.
Anyway.....there are more fashion tips to come in future posts.....but for now I am going to go eat some cookies and milk to try to forget that I just told you all this. As Buddy the Elf would concur.....I need something stronger tonight. I need some 2%.