Dr. Seuss’ book…Oh, The Places You’ll Go…is very popular this time of year as graduations abound. But, honestly, all of us pretty much know the places we’ll go. What we really need to know is what we have to wear to go there.
Cliff and I were recently invited to a dinner for the Florida Family Policy Council. The attire was dressy business or semi-formal. My interpretation, find the most uncomfortable thing you have in your closet, put it on, and you’re all set.
Cliff opened his suit bag that has been hanging in the closet for pretty much all of our almost 39 years of marriage and decided which would be the lesser of three evils. Cliff is 64. He approximated that the last time he’d worn most of these suits, aside from weddings and funerals, he was in his 30’s. We’re not very good at throwing away old stuff, which is probably why we’re still together.
The man has barely gained a pound since our wedding day, despicable I know; but I am pleased to say that gravity is no respecter of persons and even his body weight has ‘shifted’. His pants were snug. That’s it. Life is less complicated for men.
I found a dress that I’d last worn 6 years ago to a wedding in New York. (I’m not as old as Cliff and neither are my clothes.) I tried it on, and though the hem needed some attention, it still fit; which was no small miracle. I was recently told our bodies change every 7 years. Evidently, I came in just under the deadline.
After examining all sides of me, I was fairly pleased with my upper half. As for the lower half; though the lovely bluish-green veins did match my dress, I came to a realization that would instill panic in the heart of any woman living in the state of Florida. I needed stockings. Not just to hide the color of my legs, I’m used to the fact that they are blinding white and I don’t really care; but I had to wear heels and I didn’t think socks were a good alternative, which is pretty much the extent of my sense of style.
So with the realization that sometimes concessions must be made and comfort sacrificed, I bought a pair of stockings. I took them out of a box that looked like it was made for Barbie doll clothes and tried to remember when was the last time I’d done this and would I still have the dexterity and energy to do it again. I gave myself plenty of time and planned my strategy. After three attempts to get them pulled up and straight, I gave up. They were wrapped around my legs like ribbons on a maypole and that’s the way they would stay.
We sat at a table reserved for couples from our church, which is always enjoyable. We ate our dinner and prepared to hear the speakers, two Republican Gubernatorial Candidates for Florida.
A brief digression…
Does anyone in this great country of ours have any idea why we call the race for Governor a Gubernatorial? We are not electing Gubernors, nor would we want to. The word Governatorial sounds so much better, don’t you think?
We sat, we listened, we fidgeted, I fell asleep in my chair a few times, and it was over. No harm, no foul. We survived and I’m thinking we won’t have to repeat the clothing performance again for quite some time.
In the meantime, maybe we’ll just listen to the good Dr. when he says, “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.”
Our direction, I’m thinking would be very good if we just stayed at home like two slobs like us should. No dress up required, no pressing demands. Just stay in our jeans with our heads in the sand. We’ll sit in recliners, not get behind the wheel. Because really I’m thinking it’s not that big a deal!