I remember the awful styles of clothing women wore in the late 50’s especially the sack dress. It concealed a woman’s shape. I believe they called it the chemise – all the men cried.
The men didn’t fare any better. They wore baggy pants or jeans with cuffs, white socks, bow ties, and loafers with dimes in them. I guess they needed the dimes to call their sweeties.
Women wore poodle skirts with five or six crinoline slips to make the skirts stick straight out from the waist. Trying to sit down lady-like just couldn’t happen. When they finally succeeded in sitting, you couldn’t see their faces as the skirt covered the front of the person. Scruffy saddle shoes, with the anklets shoved down into the back, were all the rage.
Both sexes of teens wore khaki green tankers, rich ones wore black leather jackets, with tight blue jeans and white socks and and penny loafers. Yuck.
But nothing prepared me for the clothes the guys and gals wear now. The girls look like they are pedaling their wares, with their sexually explicit outfits. The boys, with their pants almost falling off and their underwear showing, make me laugh or gag depending on their ages.
Now, I realize that everyone has the right to dress the way want, but enough is enough and I know the cure.
Grandparents have more influence on kids than parents. So… if Imitation make the best flattery; dress exactly like they do. Grandpa, start wearing your pants pulled down especially if you possess a huge beer belly. Let your undershirts reveal the spilled food from breakfast, or lunch. Better yet, let tobacco juice stains appear on your shirts.
Strut down the street like you just heard the latest rap noise, I just can’t call it music.
Grandma wear a super sexy, tight see-through top, barley containing your ample breast. Let everyone see the flab from your upper arms. Show off your legs, with all the dimples proudly displayed and forget about shaving, in fact forget about shaving your underarms or plucking facial hairs. Like the saying in the 1960’s goes let it all hang out.
I guarantee that within a week, today’s kids will start looking like the wonderful youth everyone remembers.
Needing to put my idea to work, off we drove to Wal-Mart hoping to purchase a sexy top. Finding nothing in my size, I had to buy two tops, cut them in the half and try to piece them together without piercing my fingers. No such luck. Jim dragged the sewing machine out of the shed then sewed it together since I stay as far away from that contraption as I possibly can.
Finding an old pair of slacks with an elastic waist, three sizes too small in the shed, in a box saved just in case I lost 20 lbs, I poured my bulging body in. Why they call flab Love handles makes no sense. Overhangs sound more plausible. Trying on the blouse, I modeled for my granddaughter, proud of my creation.
Our granddaughter, Jordon, looked at me and asked, “Why do you look like that grandma?”
I told her that I wanted to look attractive for grandpa. She said, “I think you failed.”
Checking my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I looked like a huge salami stuffed into a hot dog bun. Jim laughed so hard he fell over and sprained his ankle. With a twinkle in his eye he said, “Mari, what’s to eat, you’re making me hungry.”
I wanted to give him something to eat all right, a knuckle sandwich. But as the woman of his dreams, I made him a hamburger just the way he liked it.
Deciding to test my outfit in public, I took a stroll around the subdivision. Never had I heard so much laughter coming from the open windows. Some neighbors came out and asked me what kind of occasion had me decked out like the town idiot.
When telling them my plan to change the way the youth dressed, they asked me where I purchased such a horrible outfit. I told them Jim made the blouse, the neighbors then put in orders for Jim unbeknownst to him.
When Jim came home from his two hour daily walk, I handed him twenty plus orders for him to fulfill before Halloween. Now all that’s left for me to do is make sure that Wal-Mart still carries 40 of those blouses so I can start cutting them in half.
That evening in one of my vivid dreams, all of our neighbors and friends decided to wear the outfits that Jim concocted to Green Valley Park for a summer concert. It helps to travel in large groups dressed like we did, safety in numbers we’ve been told.
Clad in our array, a young blond girl shouted out to her mother “Mommy, did the circus come to Payson? I think I just found the freaky lady.”
I turned around curious to see her choice and beheld her finger pointed straight at me.
Waking up from that nightmare, I decided to drop my plans to try and change the way kids dress. Fifty years down the road their Grandchildren will view family pictures and fall down laughing at the hilarious style of dress worn by today’s youth.