Eating the Last Hot Dog

Families are funny. Whether they mean to be or not. In fact, they are generally funnier when they don't mean to be. I'm reminded of a story about a situation I did not have the pleasure of witnessing - nor can I reveal who exactly was involved but needless to say it left me blogging...

Many years ago there was a party, an afternoon cookout in the heat of the southern sun. Attendees turned up in their gingham dresses and madras shorts, boat shoes, and pearls. Children were warned to be on their best behavior and everyone played outside in the sweltering heat. Everyone brought a dish to share and the man of the house grilled hamburgers and hotdogs, as men do. The party was perfect. Titters of polite laughter and small talk wafted through the air as the ice clinked in the lemonade glasses.  Everyone ate and they were as merry as possible. And then it happened...

Someone ate the last hotdog. You think I'm kidding? No, someone ate the last hotdog. It was as if the guests had discovered that the food was Soylent Green and they were next. The level of stress intensified. Tight smiles stretched across otherwise normal faces. Pupils dilated, breathing quickened, people began looking at their watches. Small talk became increasingly difficult. There was a platter filled with hamburgers and plenty of other food but the hotdogs were gone and this was simply unacceptable. It is utterly unheard of to invite people for a cookout and to run out of a single item! I mean really!

A reasonable interval passed and the guests determined that the time to retreat from this pauper's excuse for a party had arrived. Pleasantries were exchanged, air kisses, pats on the back, hand shakes. "See you soon" and "Thank you so much for coming" and "This was so lovely" and "Do come again." 

Followed by 10 years of silence. Because someone ate the last hot dog. 

Or so I've heard...

Flashion forward...

So it's clear that I bit it on the December committment to write everyday. While I did get a lot of writing done in December little of it was in the form of blogging and I certainly didn't do it everyday...no excuses life is just complicated and I can't always keep it all together. Anyway, Happy New Year friends! Onward and upward in 2011.

So I was reading the paper today - an unbelievable luxury if you can believe it. Anyway, so I am reading the Flair section and there is an article entitled "Spring fashion finds inspiration in the 1970's". The article goes on to discuss the Spring trends and how the current decade reflects the 1970's in various sociological ways. Maybe so...

It got me thinking about the first 1970's revival back in the 90's when I was a young teenager and young adult. In the late 90's, I was obsessed with fashion at every level with a particular penchant for vintage clothing circa 1940's - coiffed hair and very red lipstick to boot. These days I'm not as aware of what the designers are doing or what the collections are saying (or trying to say) I'm just trying to keep food off of my clothes and make sure my fly is zipped whenever I leave the bathroom.

However, my 7 year old seems to have picked up where I left off. Somedays I truly feel as if I've given birth to myself. Aside from the fact that she looks exactly like me she has also inherited my - well eclectic - sense of style - she's just better at it. Pictures of me from elementary and middle school are a mess of side ponytails, Bill Cosby style sweaters for females, my grandfathers pajamas worn as regular clothes, sweaters worn as dresses, ENORMOUS glasses, and lots of puffy paint. Do you remember puffy paint? Of course you do. Take a plain t-shirt, apply said puffy paint in various colors and patterns and you have a creative keepsake of a time in your life. I had them for Christmas, Earth Day, music, boys, etc. My personal favorites were the acid washed jeans that just didn't seem ugly enough so I covered them with glow-in-the-dark puffy paint AND glitter. Imagine for a moment what I looked like in middle school - it was even worse than your imagination. I promise.

Well my daughter seems to have developed a strong sense of style, amazingly enough. Even at seven she is obsessed with my clothes. She comes home from school, sunday school, playing, whatever and immediately retreats to my closet where she pairs my clothes in such a way that I would never have considered and it looks awesome! She wears my shirts as dresses. The ones that are too low cut in the front she just turns around backward or adds a lovely scarf! She wears my sunglasses, my  jewelry, my earrings eventhough her ears aren't pierced...She poses, and prances, this is a true girly girl.  She's even now saying she'd like to be a fashion designer when she grows up. Everyone just says to me "Well, she is your daughter" like they're not surprised. I think it's a miracle that she's not covered in puffy paint!

So if designers are headed toward the 70's now as they move away from the frightful return of the 80's (thank G-d we didn't see a return of acid washed jeans), I suppose I'm ok with it. Since I didn't participate in the actual 70's, or the 1990's revival, and while I will continue making sure my fly is zipped and my face is washed I probably won't get too involved in the current revival either. And if my girl wants to jump into the ring she'll probably end up looking like a million bucks - and that was a lot of money in the 70's!