This one has to be another blog post, it just calls to me too much.
I once had a boss’s boss (the Dean, to be specific) call me nunnish. Me. I have not gone through some sort of huge personality change; that was me as started writing Addergoole as what was supposed to be bondage-and-d/s porn. I wasn’t nunnish then, I’m not nunnish now.
But I love skirts that hit my ankles or, better yet, nearly the floor. I love layers of skirts, and have gotten positive comments more than a few times from co-workers for the nice “layered look” of my skirt, only to have them be rather surprised that it’s just two thin maxi skirts layered to make one warm pretty skirt.
I remember being teased in middle school for looking like “Little House on the Prairie.” Okay, granted, I was teased in middle school (in my district, this was 6th-8th grade, ages 12-15, or the most awful, horrible awkward years I can ever remember existing) for just about everything. But the skirts were definitely up there.
Didn’t stop me. There’s a picture of me at my 18th birthday party (writing this now, it seems unlikely I was ever 18), and I am wearing what had to be my favorite swishy skirt ever. My mom bought it for me from one of the Hippy Stores on Hippy Row (Monroe Avenue, downtown Rochester, at a point when it was head shops, hemp-clothing stores, tie-dye and organic recycled shoes), tier after tier after tier of super-thin patterned rayon. I wore that thing until every seam in the bottom 6 tiers had ripped out at least a little, and just tied knots in them to keep them from dragging on the floor.
If you handed me that skirt, new (in my size) today, I would wear it till the seams all ripped out again. Swishy skirts are my thing. They’re as much a part of me as writing.
Bonus: three of them layered over leggings is way warmer than jeans. And I get a kick out of walking for firewood in my carhart, barn gloves, and skirts to my ankles.
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