by Kathy Bohannon
There’s a trend in clothing for girls and women, and I’m not amused.
I’m a 54-year-old grandmom and while I’m not a fashionista, nor am I a prude.
I’m pretty sure “booty” shorts are here to stay. Formerly known as Daisy Dukes, the super short shorts that barely cover certain body parts reveal stuff that really, few of us want to see. For some reason these short shorts are among the selections offered for a wide range of ages.
While looking for something for my grandgirls, I had to actually stop shopping at one clothing chain. The racks were full of items that our baby girls simply aren’t going to be wearing. Sorry chain, you lost.
In late spring of this year, I took inventory of what’s hanging in my closet. I have lost 60 pounds and have purged a lot of the clothing that I wore for many years. I was excited to shop for something new and fresh, something that fit my new size.
Because of my age, I suppose I am expected by ladies wear buyers to embrace and purchase grandma clothes. I’m not into grandma clothes. I like zippers and belts and waistbands and I do not like elastic waists. At my heaviest, I perused store after store in search of something un-matronly. It was not to be found. At my current weight I am finally able to shop in the “regular” sizes. It’s a quiet celebration of two years of watching carbs to the point of committing to memory exactly how much bread I can consume, how many chips, if any, how to get by on just one single bite of someone’s pie. I have this little “hurrah!” festival going on in my heart as I select something to try on and realize it fits.
While shopping recently I found some shorts that looked great on the hanger. They were cute, had little pockets and a snazzy belt. I carried them into the fitting room and tried them on. They were a perfect fit. The only problem was that the pockets didn’t have enough depth to carry my keys or cellphone. As I considered this little drawback, I looked in the mirror.
Oh my goodness. I was standing there in a pair of booty shorts. Fearing flashing lights and sirens, I removed them as quickly as I could. Surely there was a law against it. The intercom would buzz like a fire drill. There would be an anxious, scratchy voice, warning everyone to take cover. “GRANDMOTHER IN BOOTY SHORTS! FITTING ROOM 12! TAKE COVER! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”
I may have shed a few pounds but dang skippy, there are parts of me that really, truly never, ever need to see a mirror, let alone be paraded out in public. I quickly changed back into my thrift store Capri pants and marched those horrendous things right back to the trendy display they came from. I tried several others on, only to be sadly disappointed.
And then I saw them. They were on a table, just to the left. They were crisp and white, with an awesome netted belt in blue and white stripes. I didn’t care that they were in the men’s department. I remembered trying on my husband’s jeans recently just to see if they were still way too small. They were actually too big, so I knew I could wear the next size down. I looked for my size.
The mirror told the truth again. With tapered legs, the shorts stopped just above the knee. The belt hung nicely. The pockets were deep enough to carry so much stuff I probably wouldn’t need a purse all summer. I smiled and nearly skipped to the register.
And that’s how I came to wear men’s shorts. They happen to be the favorite and I’m heading back for more. I really don’t care which side the zipper zips. I really don’t care that they fit me just perfectly and what that might possibly say about my new shape.
They are un-booty, un-granny, un-short pocketed and un-matronly. In short, they are just right.
Kathy Bohannon is a weekly contributor to the Newnan Times-Herald. Purchase her ebook Dyson the Terrible Puppy at BarnesandNoble.com. Kathy can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org