Tuesday, August 14, 2007

The 80s... or Cute? A Redux Dilemma with Blackberries

Look, I get that there are ways that 80s fashion is cool again. Sort of. Or was, a season or two ago. But, as many a woman has said before, if you wore it the first time it came through, it just ain’t happenin’ the second time around. Forties style peep-toe? Adorable (although I like it better when the heel isn't quite so vintage-clunky). Torn skinny jeans with safety pins lined up on them? Um… my boyfriend with the eyeliner and alien hair wore those. And, really, he wasn’t a boyfriend worth revisiting (although the smoking hot and rather dim windsurfer with abs you could bounce a quarter off of… well, we’re discussing fashion, not former acquaintances, right?). The skinny jean fashion just reminds me of the kids with the dragon tats and mohawks asking if I wanted to shoot heroin in the parking lot. Or drop acid. Or… did I mention I was an art student back in the day?

At any rate: the eighties… I’m happy not going back there. Do you know anyone who’s hoping to be their teenage selves again? Really, who wants to go to prom AGAIN? It was bad enough the first couple times. Gah. The horrible dresses, the comically bad dates, the kids who rented the Winnebago full of beer and were surprised when they were busted by the cops… is any of that something to happily revisit? Well, the kids who got busted with their Winnebago full of beer was pretty funny even then. And their surprise. After all, who would be suspicious of a bunch of staggering teenagers pouring out of a Winnebago at prom? Heh.

And yet, I’ve done something I haven’t done since I was fourteen and in good enough shape to go to running camp. I bought white shorts (I do understand that the fashion life of white shorts went on without me, so it's really only a redux moment for me, not the world at large). This is an extremely blurry picture of me in them.
My rear view is certainly not as perky as the rear view of a fourteen-year-old who runs six to ten miles a day. And I no longer have any lavender polo shirts (Collar up. Without irony.) to wear with white shorts. And I don’t have braces. But… I once again have white shorts. To go with the sticky-jam-fingered children who accompany me everywhere, and forget that napkins are a better choice than my clothes. It might not be the best choice (particularly, say, after Curly has eaten blackberries and forgotten that she has a napkin in her hand), but so far, I’m kind of having a good time with it. And just to double-dog-dare fate while thinking on my white shorts (did I mention that I'm always the person who spills red wine or ketchup on a new white shirt?)… I went blackberry picking with the kids and my mom yesterday. But I didn’t wear my new white shorts. Which is good, because even if you manage not to get stained while picking blackberries, some part of you (My butt. Curly's leg. My boy's skinny, skinny arms. My mom: cleverly brought her gardening gloves, thwarting the splintery thorns.) will act as a magnet to blackberry brambles. We have a semi-secret blackberry patch,on a little-known public pathway, and spent a while, eating and picking, picking and eating. It was sunny, but all dappled and quiet in the patch, hidden away from sight of the street. The kids only crabbed at each other a little, but mostly looked out for each other, and the berries were luscious and fragrant. The best ones taunted us by being out of reach, or dropped as we pulled the branch towards us, but it was idyllic. And the berries were scrumptious. I love the surprise in a blackberry- of the sudden, biting sour, or the luscious, melting sweetness. Or both. The kids seem to like them better in the patch than on the plate, and that makes sense to me. But we may need to try making blackberry gelato.

2 comments:

Your Husband (!) said...

Hmmmmph. Windsurfer with with great abs indeed.

Meg said...

He wasn't a spot on you, love.