Ode to the Old Clothes

Old Clothes

She said her husband’s underwear was so ragged that the crotch would wave in the wind as he walked. She said he refused to let go of the underwear although she had purchased several new pairs just for him. The wife just could not understand as to why he loved those old pants.

Over the years, I have listened to women complain that their spouses refuse to say goodbye to old clothing and each of these women seemed clueless as to why. Some men who love these old raggedy clothes deem them a necessity in their lives seemingly as a comforter. I presume it is similar to a child with a pacifier - a must have to sedate.

As a woman who thought it elegant to wear matching dress, shoes and purse, I thought these classy tattered men just failed to look good for the women in their lives; forgetting mom’s adage, Make sure you have on clean underwear just in case you get into an accident.

Now I know these men knew what mom meant and that they were very obedient to their mothers. Yes, they were men who actually listened to what mom said. She said that the underwear had to be clean NOT store bought. There is a huge difference.

While growing up, my parents had 7 crumb-snatchers to feed and clothe as well as themselves. Now count the number of people on your fingers and you will see that amounts to 9 people to purchase the necessities for. Often time, we would receive hand-me-downs from family friends and/or shop at our nearest Kmart. We could not always afford brand new clothing, but my mother said that as long as the clothes were clean, then we were in good shape.

"If you just have one dress, make sure that one dress is clean; no missing buttons or holes."
Okay mom, we heard ya.




I got my first job when I was 15 and found that I was able to purchase the necessities of an overabundance of clothes. Yes, each pair of shoes matched my purses, which matched my new dresses. I thought I looked good. Every chance I got, I would drive to the mall and pickup a dress or two along with the matching necessary accessories of more shoes, purses, earrings, fingernail polish, bracelets and other items to fill my over crowded bedroom. (M.S. and the other homemaker-decorating-queens would be proud that I was able to store over 200 pairs of shoes in such a small closet space.)

Often I would receive opposition from those who did not understand that just because you have a brown pair of shoes does not necessarily mean that you have taupe, tan, or even auburn. In addition, the color black comes in more than one shade of black and any intelligent person is aware of the different styles and shades of gold, gray, silver, blue, light blue, baby blue, sky blue, green, winter green and hunter green. Please even white has different, noticeable shades; bone, bone-white, off white, pearly white, egg shell white, golden pearl, etc.


While I was purchasing all of these nonsense items, it never occurred to me that I was spending my college money, a down payment for a home, additional life insurance, payment for a car and other important things, but I was looking and feeling good for the moment. It wasn’t until my dad said, "Keeba, give me some of that money to put away for you," did I realize that there was such a thing called saving for a rainy day.

Humph, who did he think he was? It was MY money and I should be able to spend it any way I wanted. Uh huh, at least so I thought. My dad drove me to Colorado National Bank and purchased a few savings bonds. Please! What the heck was I suppose to do with those pieces of paper? They didn’t have any value; for the moment. I wasn’t happy, but I suppose that just how it was going to have to be; at least until I was able to afford to live under my own roof.

While I was able to increase my waistline at McDonalds, and purchase more cheap shoes, I bought food for the house and paid both the electricity and water bill. (I had to do my little part.)

****
I am thankful I was able to learn from my mother after she endured much pain while continuously wearing cheap shoes.

Thanks to my dad saving my little funds, I was able to purchase a reliable vehicle. Of course, I wasn’t too bright when I allowed my car insurance to lapse at the same time as this marijuana-head man smashed into the back of my car. Yes, I suffered in more ways then one when I walked away with severe whiplash and an uninsured vehicle that now looked like a badly smashed-inflexible boot on I-70.

Thanks to my dad in helping me pay some of my creditors who sought me out in the daylight with a flashlight seeking their money when I lost my job.

Thanks to the education system and commonsense that the word, "temporary" is just that, temporary; short-lived and passing. Yes, my job title read, "Temporary Supplemental" and was only gainful and attainable while I was in High School. (I was awfully bright as you can tell.)

Thanks to the excess McDonalds-weight program I learned that additional money would have to be made to cover my body expansion. And that I learned I would no longer eat fast-foods until I gained some type of employment.

Thanks to God, commonsense and experience, that I learned that beauty is temporary and brains are forever, well…

****
There came a time when I did not mind wearing the same alternated clothes in my closet. And the shoes, well they became hard and discolored while sitting in the uncovered shoeboxes. There came a time when I either grew up or didn’t have much concern as to what I wore, but just that the clothes were clean and neatly pressed. Only age, wisdom and experience would allow me to consider owning a dry cleaning business as well as buying stock in "No-Nonsense Pantyhose." But I was young and the future was never a factor in my temporary mind.

I wished I had gained some knowledge regarding healthy and nutritious eating or lack thereof while dinning at all of those fast food restaurants.

Today, I am a few pounds lighter, but certainly much more aware (not necessarily smarter) of my expenditures. So much so, that I remember my mother telling me that I could own one dress just as long as it is clean and pressed. When I go shopping for clothes, I seek the cheap outlets and for shoes, JC Penny, Sears and shoe outlets.

I’m not proud of the experiences, but am thankful I learned from them, as I certainly would not wish them to define me. In addition, I do not wish to be characterized as a cheap person, but know a good bargain when I see one. Howeverrrrrrrr, my mother thought I was tacky when I went to the thrift store and purchased several blouses to wear throughout the summer months.

"Keeba, aren’t you ashamed?" she asked.
"No," I said. "When we were young, we received hand-me-downs and there wasn’t any problem, so I certainly don’t see a problem with wearing used (recycled) clothes now."
"But that was then and this is now. You can afford to buy clothes from the mall and not some cheap place like the thrift store."
"But mom, you wouldn’t have known if I didn’t tell you now, would you?"
"No, but since I do, well lets just say that you’re just so cheap that you won’t even buy descent clothes."
"Mom, you and daddy told me about saving money." (See I actually did listen.) I continued to state my case. "When you see Bill Gates, he doesn’t look as though he stepped off the run-way, but as if he purchased those wrinkled khaki pants from the second hand store."

My mother let out a shameful and pitiful "ummmmmm," and shook her head.

I hoped she was not so ashamed of me, but I did look good or presentable anyway. I mean, the blouse was neatly ironed and it was certainly clean. Besides, I had a few extra bucks saved in the BANK!

Some years ago, I embarked on an endeavor that greatly took me by surprise. While at home, I didn’t see any reason to continue to play dress-up, but instead took on more of Mr. Gates tactics and dressed down. With my flexible weight, I took on elastic pants from Wal-Mart. Ah! I felt good. Well, maybe not so much, but at least my stomach was not eating the waist-line of my pants. I purchased 8 or 9 pairs of those comfortable fat pants and wore them 7 days a week. Wash and wear was great; no more dry cleaning bills! Yes!

Does anyone know that you can not wash those cheap pants repeatedly and expect them to last more than 1,095 days? Well, I didn’t. Well, not until one of the many black pairs began to produce openings in various places in the material. At first, the material receeded and produced a small hole in the leg, and then in the other and then the knee and shortly after, near the ankle area. It was not until later that a small rip in the seam of the crotch that I noticed I might run into problems. I continued to wash and wear the pants until one day I discovered a large, oversized cavity in the knee and crotch and that I would have to do the unthinkable and pull out the old needle and thread. I sewed the pants without considering wasting gas, time or money to purchase new ones. It cost me no more than 15 to 20 minutes for me to repair my oldies but goodies and to top it off, I looked and felt good; at least for the moment.



One day while visiting my mom, I suppose I was not sitting in the fashionable lady-like stance; I really don’t recall. Anyway, my mothered looked at me and made some reply regarding the unsaved pants. She laughed. I laughed. She continued to laugh and point while I sat with a disfigured look.

After a few bouts with self, I decided to put the stretch pants to rest and try a size 10 Rider jeans. I felt good knowing that my butt was not trying to swallow the back of my jeans.

Every now and then, I pull on a pair of the old goodies and I feel fine, although others seem to have a problem with the holes and permanent stains. I am not going to a fancy diner, and gone are my so-called modeling days. Furthermore, every time Mr. Good Wrench a.k.a. Home-Improvement-Tim Allen-wannabe asks if I want to take a drive, and I say I need to change clothes, he just simply responds, "Who are you dressing up for? Its just you and me… you like fine…lets go."



So, if Mr. Bad Wrench doesn’t have a problem with it, then neither do I. Again, I do not wish to be defined as to who I am or am not.

Proudly, I still own a few pairs of old trusties, but my jeans are wearing fine - for now.

With much compunction, I finally have the courage to say goodbye to one pair of thee most trustworthy clothes I have ever had the great opportunity in owning. I have been good to them and them me as I have certainly got my monies worth. And to all those men who enjoy the waving crotch, keep it up, or down, just as long as you’re comfortable. I won’t judge, but will simply say, I understand.



©Keeba Smith
Hankered Writer and Feared Compressor
K Smith is an author, columnist and social issues commentator KSmith023@yahoo.com