I have always admired and, if I am honest, envied the impeccably dressed folks walking out with their kids to wait for the School bus at 7.00am. These are the mothers and fathers who look like they have just come out of a UN Council Meeting. The mothers are fully suited up sporting 3 inch high stiletto heels, smiling out of a face that could be the next one modeling the latest line of cosmetics for Estee Lauder. The fathers, as I observe through my front window dressed in a pair of pajamas that are not fit to be seen taking the garbage out, are clean-shaven, freshly showered with water droplets still glistening on the hair neatly brushed back and have on the latest career suits from Gucci or Ralph Lauren.
It is indecent for anyone to look that good at 7.00 am. If it is not already illegal, I say we petition the local Congressman to write new laws. No one can blame me or my family for the same offense. We are the folks that give new meaning to the word ‘disheveled’. You can’t catch us wearing anything but mismatched clothes, socks and shoes at any time of the day. No sirree Bob. It would take nothing short of a miracle to get us to dress up like our neighbors at the bus stop even to attend an event where the President would be presenting us with an award for the ‘Sloppiest dressed couple in the States’ at a ceremony held at the White House lawn televised by all the leading TV networks.
I have tried to get my kids to watch others and learn the secret to putting together an ensemble that doesn’t scream ‘I am sick and I gotta stay in bed’, but they are bent on upholding the family tradition. My daughter is in middle school and owns one blue pair of sandals. Be it a wedding, piano recital or a graduation party, she wears these sandals with the pride and affection of a mother watching her child perform solo at a school play. My offer to buy her another pair was taken as an insult. To my sensitive efforts of picking the right time to gently suggest that it may be time to let go of the old, battered sandals and give them a decent burial, she gave me a look that was dirtier than her worn-out sandals. Recognizing the futility of getting her to wear dress shoes when we go out to a party, I have come up with another solution. I just tell the hosts that our dog ate her shoes.