Skirtatude #9: Objects of Worth

Objects of Worth

The last object of worth before the many encouragements and accolades via blog was going to a side walk chalk festival. I have shots of my favorites. I lingered in the children’s section and took many  abstracted shots of the amateur artist section while trying to weed through the many renderings of manga and patriotic imaginings. I’ll post shots as soon as I can get the photo manager to respond to the camera. It dropped the transfer midstream and I have yet to make a connection between both pieces. Luckily the photos are still on the camera. Maybe it is the batteries.

Rethinking, the last object of worth I encountered was over six years ago and was left in the bathroom at Walmart. Yes, again, skirts and librarians. Granted now I may be living below the poverty line and everything has become precious up to and including shaving pencil stumps with exacto knives otherwise being lost in the depths of the electric pencil sharpener. Precious meaning you learn to care for things to get the ultimate longevity out of an item. Harrowed conversation comes to mind in the room of an assisted living home. Getting started on the second shift, I was gathering her laundry to start before I served dinner. She, in her wheel chair, pulled me down and close, “Do no dry my bras, it will break the elastic quicker”. I minded her treatise and wish I had minded my own laundry the same way for years after that job.  For today, well this past monday, today would be of no avail. That job was over fifteen years ago and many a day had gone by of discarding underwear and buying new. Little, oh little did I know that “timing is everything” would visit me like Murphy’s Law that day.

I have but a few precious these days, some from Walmart, some from Target, other’s lingering hopes of a few sizes smaller and the glorious days of Fredrick’s of Hollywood. Mind you, Victoria Secret is wonderful, but for full figured, the clue breaks when you discover their sizing ends at a 38D. You venture elsewhere to a place where precious is an antique piece of lace that inclines one much like a skirt or dress with décolletage effortlessly placed. This my conundrum from pants to skirts running  to the supports beneath. How feminine does one have to become to have a door opened and a kind arm up a steep slope; of course how high does the hemline have to be so as not to be called “Dike” and low enough to forego being scathed as skank. But I digress, I found a perfect pair six years ago. Perfect in that they past over my hips, stayed and made me feel appealingly naughty. Having had a low self esteem for a time, this was a feet. White lace netting and a yellow satin ribbon all the way around with ruffled edges: they were my perfect fall back and always made me feel better no matter the drab costuming over top.

If you are familiar with Walmart you know  the general layout: Fresh produce, bakery, meats to dairy and row upon row of canned goods to specialty items. I had made the turn in the meat section, nary an individual around and >slip<. I pulled on my skirt pretending nothing was wrong. Walked a little ways and >slide< there was no going back. I didn’t know what to do and was become more embarrassed with every step and pull up. Then the voice. Security? OH>Bleep< “ Where having problems with our underwear”. I died. With each step I dug my grave. I was going to play it off… straight out of Seinfeld and then the kind voice said, “why don’t you head to the bathroom ?” I placed the cheese in the basket and slowly hiking my skirt up holding underwear, headed for the public restroom. “Nobody’s looking,” he said. Trying not to be mortified and laughing, parked my cart with a clerk and ducked in the behind the wall marked “female”.

In the stall, dryer-heat warped underwear elastic and all, I let them go in the sanitary napkins slot. Up and out , back to shopping and the skirt never had felt so air conditioned before. Sexy was not what I was thinking. Far from it. I relish this moment of certified granola when wearing a long skirt, this however came to my calves. I’m short so everything was at a higher risk for skankitude. I was almost fine till I reached  the baking aisle and she said “ Ma’am please move to the middle of the store, there is a tornado”. Just what I need, a tornado hits Walmart and I’m face down skirt over my head and bare naked ladies to the world.

Skirt in action: I get called ma’am.

Skirt in action: A draped pull to the side in stead of a self inflicted wedgie in pants.

Skirt in action: Consider me more than utilitarian. I appeal more than being able to do what men do, which I can’t.

Skirt in action: I think I’ll start a campaign for hats, I may draw the line at gloves

-Niven Colette Constantine