“Where’s that tennis skirt you used to wear?”
Why in the world would he ask that??? The man amazes me. Let’s see now…I have not played tennis in probably 30 years. Is he thinking that I’ve simply misplaced the skirt in a wrong drawer or something? I had the little tennis panties, too, and a racket and yes, I even played occasionally with friends who didn’t play much better than I did. It didn’t occur to me to have the skirt bronzed.
It was not the best time for him to ask such a question. Not five minutes before I’d put on summer dress thinking that I could handle its just-above-the-knee length, but when I looked in the mirror, I was wearing my mother’s knees. When did they come aboard??? Being in my 60’s is as full of oddities as living in the 1960’s was. The surprises just keep coming. Last week I was brushing my hair and there was Diane Feinstein staring back at me. HUH?
At this stage of life and body, I couldn’t get anything larger than my elbow in those bloomers and if I still had the skirt, I’d have to wear it as a collar. Maddenly but endearingly, my Martian husband really believes that if I lost a couple of pounds, I could still slide into that tennis outfit. Hah! Not even if we called in the Army Corp of Engineers….
We are in different worlds when it comes to clothing. As I’ve said before, he keeps clothes forever and still has the same body he had when we married. Seams don’t pull on his clothes, pants don’t get rump-sprung. An occasional hole in a sock is about as destructive as he gets.
Last week we ate lunch at an Intracoastal restaurant and my husband wore a t-shirt asking folks to vote for our friend Martha for Town Council. The restaurant manager eyed the shirt and said, “I don’t think you’re going to get many votes. I don’t even know where that town is.”
That’s okay because the election was in 1996.
Martha won the election –several terms–with t-shirts to spare and when I told her that DB was still wearing that old shirt, she said there were probably a few more in the bottom of her cedar chest that she’d give him.
“Better be careful,” I told her. “He’s liable to get you a few write-in votes.”
She says he can have the shirts, but she asked me to please give him this message:
“IF ELECTED, I WILL NOT SERVE.”
That’s how my mother’s knees and I feel about tennis. Even if outfitted, I will not serve. Or volley.