|I am the girl on the girl on the right. I am wearing the skirt in question, but not the blouse. |
(To be honest, I don't remember owning a navy vest, but then again there's a lot of things
I don't remember about those strange years.)
You would never see this outfit on a celebrity, never on a model, and most definitely never on a typical twenty-two year old woman. But when I wore it, I felt skinny and sexy.
The long, navy blue skirt fit trimly with no pleats or gathers. Its hem softly brushed my ankles as I walked. The white, button down blouse was a gift from a friend and co-worker. She said she saw it at Goodwill and thought of me. I loved it. It hinted ever so slightly to my figure, thanks to strategically placed darts.
Now if you’re envisioning a tall, slim twenty something in a long pencil skirt and figure flattering, crisp, white blouse, top two buttons undone revealing a smooth chest and perhaps sparkly jewelry, think again.
This was a long navy blue skirt two sizes too large. Safety pins tightened the waist line, allowing it to hang on my hips. Under the white blouse was a full length cotton slip, removing any opportunity for showing off a figure. Every single one of those buttons where buttoned tight and not a hint of jewelry was seen.
Yet when my 22 year old self wore this outfit, I felt on top of the world. I thought for sure a few of the more good looking guys (way out of my league) would notice me. I thought for sure Mr. Gothard would think I looked professional and would ask me to do something important.
Of course there was the issue of random people’s hair staticly clinging to the skirt’s hem as I trailed the red carpets, and the fact that the blouse button third from the bottom would never stay buttoned, but by golly, this was the outfit that was going to change the world for me.
After wearing it two days every week for several months, I found it did nothing for me, except keep me company while I answered the switchboard in the huge, lonely front lobby.
I wore this outfit the day Mr. Gothard (for some weird and rare reason) walked through the front door. I stood, smiled, walked around the desk and shook his hand. He smiled then pointed to the ceiling. “Who’s responsibility is it to change the light bulbs?” he asked. When I answered that I had no idea, he told me to investigate. So much for an important job.
I wore this outfit the day I said good-bye to a “young man” I thought might be “the one”. Well, turns out he wasn’t. So much for snagging a man in it. (P.S. As nice as he was, I’m glad he wasn’t the one. I rather like the one I caught while wearing a t-shirt and denim skirt.)
I kept this skirt and blouse in my closet for several years, even after pregnancies changed my body enough to never fit it again. I’m not sure why. Maybe I thought just looking at it every time I opened the closet door would make me skinny and sexy all over again.
Let me tell you though, if being skinny and sexy means going back to ill fitting navy and white, then I yell for all to hear, “BRING ON THE FAT JEANS AND MOMMY SHIRTS!”