A reading from the Book of Garments, chapter 16, verse 35-51

“..and so there fell upon the land an unexpected day free from labors.  And the Lord God did speak to the Pear-Shaped Woman in the Town of Penfield in the New state of York, commanding her: ‘Go forth this day, because you are unexpectedly relieved of labors, and venture out into the Marketplace (Mall) and seekest for thyself denim garments for thy lower extremities.  And the Woman trembled with fear, for she had  lookest for such garments for, like, 40 years.  And the Lord, who knowest all fears, did say, “bringest thou clothing for charity and the merchant will reward you with 20% reduced prices for your search.”  So the Woman traveled to the Marketplace, and did donate clothing to charity in exchange for 20% reduced price merchandise.  And the Lord God did grin.

Then the Woman ventured into the racks of regular fit and skinny and curvy and bootleg denim garments, but grew weary at the numbers of each.  Then a miracle occurred! The Woman put on denim garments that fitteth her Eastern European buttocks yet were comfortably snug in the waist area.  And the Lord God did grin.

Then the  Lord didst speak again, cautioning the Woman, “Thou shalt not spendeth more than 50 dollars on thy garments.  No more, no less. Fifty is the amount thou shalt spend, and the number thou shalt spend shall be fifty.  Fifty five thou shalt not spend. The Lord shall look with favor upon forty-five, but if thou wishes to spend up to the amount of fifty, thou shalt give thanks to the Lord forever for having guideth you through the vast racks of denim merchandise. Seventy-five is right out.  Once reaching the amount of 50 dollars, thou shalt take out thy card of Visa, and lobbest it at the merchant, who, being honest in my sight, shall snuff it.” 

And the Pear-Shaped did as she was told, praising God for discovering not one but two sets of denim garments that did indeed fitteth her Eastern European buttocks and were comfortably snug in the waist area.  And there was much rejoicing, and feasting at the Food Court of hot spicy Buffalo wings, and Wahlburgers, and Abbott’s custard, and Five Dollar Foot Long submarine sandwiches, and slices of non-Italian pizza, and (…skip ahead a bit sister.  Oh!).  But the Pear Shaped woman feasted only slightly, for she didst not want lose the fit of the denim garments just purchased.  And she went forth praising the Lord for her bounty.  A-men! "

(with inspiration from Monty Python, with just enough changes to avoid a copyright infringement lawsuit :)

Two to Tango

Am I missing something here?  Would we be having all this fuss and bother if a young man appeared in Congress saying that he would want his faith-sponsored university to supply condoms at their health clinic?  Would anyone be calling him a 'slut' or a 'whore'?   Or would someone say he is a 'responsible adult' because HE should not be bringing babies into this world that HE is not financially or emotionally able to support? (because, of course, an honorable man would be ready to marry any girl he got pregnant).

Think about that.  Comments welcome.

"If men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament." -- Gloria Steinem

Finding my inner Cioci Ena

I suppose it was inevitable, given that my female relatives in my Mom's family always dressed well. Big Babci instilled the virtues of clean, neat and well-fitted clothing; everything had to be 'just so'.  The epitome of that virtue was my beloved Cioci Ena. Even going to the grocery store had nary a hair out of place nor the slight tint of lipstick.  "Permanent"s were protected by plastic bonnets in the rain or in the pool.   My Mom and her sisters followed suit, although they could occasionally be caught wearing 'leisureware' on the weekends.  (funny how that has become high fashion in my daughter's high school).

Now I have seemed to go through an image re-invention every 5 years or so.  When I made the gradual (and sometimes stressful) transformation from preschool special ed teacher to public relations coordinator, I realized my wash-n-wear playdoh-proof wardrobe had to get replaced by tailored, dry-cleaned suits and mix-n-matchable outfits.  When I transitioned (again) to instructing in postsecondary education, some of my clothes could travel with me but some had fallen out of style and usefulness. 

Then, the inevitable occurred: a notable birthday ending in zero (you can guess which one).  And with that came a creeping sense and fear of loafers, sweatsuits, and double-cuffed turtlenecks--y'know, fashion staples for women 'of a certain age'.   There is a name for this condition: Frumpyphobia , the fear of looking or acting frumpy, especially before one's time.

Of course, my Cioci Ena never exhibited any of the signs of Frumpyphobia.  Dresses were still worn (with pantyhose!), pantsuits were shapely, and makeup was impeccable.  And I think perhaps my female cousins experienced the early symptoms at the typical cusp of adolescence, as they all still dress quite well.  But me, well...I seemed to always be a 'late bloomer' compared to them.  So, much like chicken pox, my later-in-life symptoms of Frumpyphobia exhibited themselves in full force.

Where could I find my cure?  Well-dressed coworkers? Oprah? Books? E-books? All of the above, and more, seeking that certain combination of 'j'nais se quois'  and comfortable confidence. With school on break and armed with fashion templates in my head and $200 in my pocket, I looked for the next re-invention of myself.  (note: I keep consignment stores and re-sale shops well-shopped and stocked).  Voila!  I am finally going through that dress-up stage my poor mother has always waited for, the stage where I was found playing in sandboxes or biking down dirt hills with breakneck aplomb.

As I write this, though, maybe it is not about the clothes, or the perfect lipstick color, or just the right haircut.  Certainly my Cioci Ena owned all of these.  But perhaps what made all of the outer package more visible was what the inner package shone through:  faith, kindness, caring, love of family.   Perhaps feeling grounded in these values made Cioci Ena stand a little more confidently, a little more self-assuredly, upon which all of the outer package was displayed. 

Maybe that is the lesson learned: I can't buy self-confidence on a rack.  Maybe the second lesson learned is:  by being grounded in what I truly value makes my 'fashion' all the more authentic.  Maybe the third lesson is:  what I need may not always be what I want.

Now if I could just get rid of these puffy dark circles under my eyes...