Born in the Wrong Era

My mother came into the rental I am staying in this morning. I watched her tired body flop on the over-sized couch. Her dyed blonde hair was up in a high ponytail and she was wearing lulu lemon yoga pants and a tank top that hugged her form. “I’m bushed!” she said. I knew she had just come from a spin class. We began to catch up. I had something on my mind and I wanted to test the waters with her. It was now or never. My mom would find out anyway. She’s a sleuth like that. “So…” I said slowly looking at her, “I’m thinking about wearing more modest clothing”. She quirked an eyebrow at me. It was her signature move right before the intense interrogation that I knew was coming.

For as long as I can remember my mother and I were like “two paths diverged in the woods”. I can actually smile when I reflect upon the differences in our fashion choices. When I was younger I felt like I had less of a say. So it was my mom who got me detention once for dressing me in daisy dukes and sending me off to school insisting I looked fine. I didn’t look fine. I got a ruler placed to my legs as I stood there with my hands to my sides. My shorts were above my fingertips which went against the dress code. I got sent home. And then there was the time that my mom went through the phase of wanting us to wear nearly see-though tank tops with a matching bra to cover our nipples. That’s about where I drew the line.

As I got older and became a mom, suddenly I began to feel a tug towards the need to cover up. I didn’t want the world seeing my body. I moved to a state that prances around with skin showing on the daily. I live in the liberal mecca of the U.S. and so I’m sure my mother nearly had a heart attack when her already-modest daughter said she wanted to cover up even more so. “You were born in the wrong era” my mother said, smirking at me, “Are you trying to be a nun?”. I smiled politely and assured her that I wasn’t about to run off to the convent despite being Catholic.

“I just…” I said carefully, and then I got down my Bible. I like visual references. It helps. But my mom looked at my Bible like I was holding a snake that would bite her. “Oh Gods…” she muttered. (She’s an atheist). “Exactly! This is about God!” I said excitedly. My mom huffed but said nothing as I showed her the Bible verse that has been gnawing in my brain.

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Now let me pause here for a moment. I’m one of those people who drives around with a: Prays well with others, bumper sticker on my car. I’m all for coexistence and how you believe is between you and God. I was merely trying to tell my mother, who was going to have an opinion on my attire, how I wanted to dress and why. I read the verse aloud as she wrinkled her nose. With a wave of her hand she told me to go ahead. “If you want to live like the 1950’s… go for it” she said sighing at me. I smiled at her lovingly. I don’t expect her to understand. But at least now she knows my plan. 🙂

I can’t wait to pick out some fun fashion pieces! Maybe I’ll share them on here with you. More thoughts as I think of them. Have a beautiful Friday!

~Punkin Xx

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