That is me in the despised saddle shoes. I was too young to hate them, yet.
The first, longest lasting, and most redundant misery my was frizzy, old lady perms. Mother did this so my sister and I would be social outcasts. Vastly overestimating our sexual attractiveness, from the time we went into puberty until we got old enough to fight her off, she maliciously inflicted home perms on us.
She bought our underwear at the Dollar Store or the cheapest thrift store or fire sale around, should Grandma lag in keeping us rigged out in home-made torture underwear. Long after pointy bras were unavailable in normal circulation, Mother managed to ferret out pointy padded bras in the cheapest stores known to mankind, never mind the fact that the stiff cups caved in if they were bumped. I’d have loved some not-too badly-worn cast-offs from the lucky, poor kids down the street, but they laughed when they caught me going through their trash. I tried to hide when changing in gym to keep anyone from seeing my Grandma’s home-made drawers. They were made without benefit of elastic in the waist and tended to lengthen your legs by several inches as the day went on. Grandma didn’t worry a lot about soft, cotton fabric. Coarse, woven prints were good for the soul.
I was stuck in saddle-shoes for years because they were durable and Mother had loved them in high school. Never-mind the fact that no other kid would have been caught dead in saddle shoes. Best of all, I was a total slob, not the kind of kid who would ever voluntarily polish a shoe. Most of the time, I didn’t even remember I had shoes till the school bus driver was honking the horn outside our door and I was simultaneously looking for my books, trying to get a note signed (bad news) and looking for lost shoes. My shoes were inevitably, wet, filthy, and most likely stinking from ripping through the barnyard. Not a good look for black and white shoes. A more forward-thinking mother would have dressed me every day in a slicker and rain boots, so she could have hosed me off.
I
I can imagine you walking around with a cloud of dust wafting along behind you. Just like Pig Pen from Snoopy, Charlie Schulz and his friends.
You growed up tough.Perhaps if the modern kids experienced a day or two like that their lives might change for the better.
LikeLike
I had no clue I could get hurt. It’s a wonder any kids survive to adulthood. I certainly did all the right stuff to do myself in.
LikeLike
I snickered at the slicker and boots. You make me thankful that my children were not exceptionally messy.
LikeLike
I still get dirty walking across the room.
LikeLike
That is funny. You must be a dust and dirt magnet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s awful. I could wear my clothes forever, but they get stained.
LikeLike
https://nutsrok.wordpress.com/2015/01/21/the-sad-saga-of-the-beakless-tailless-gizzard-bobbing-one-leg-hopping-chicken/
I think you might like this. Go pee first!
LikeLike
At least there is no stain on your character.
LikeLike
Couldn’t tell by looking.
LikeLike
Ha! Ha!
LikeLike
Perms and saddle shoes are bad enough, but coarse undies? Torture!!
LikeLike
Ugly underwear is good birth control too. Didn’t want anybody to see it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
LOL!
LikeLike
OK, I like your saddle shoes. BTW is the house in the background is where you grew up?
LikeLike
This was at a park. I will find a picture of my first home soon. We initially lived in a small neighborhood and later moved to a rural area and built a farm. Will to find pics later.
LikeLiked by 1 person
John fared well. I was not mad. It struck me as funny.
LikeLike
Would love to see the farm.
LikeLike
Looking for pics
LikeLiked by 1 person