Mom came to visit the other night wearing a pair of capris. She called them pedal-pushers, so I guess to be ‘cool’ the current name for high-water pants is capris. On me, I HATE them. I like them on a ton of other people, they just look awful on me. I put them on and feel like Huckleberry Finn. A few more freckles and a fishin’ pole, and you’d hear me quoting him… “Yes, he’s got a father, but you can’t never find him these days. He used to lay drunk with the hogs in the tanyard, but he hain’t been seen in these parts for a year or more.”
Mom? For a great-grandmother, she was definitely stylin’. So I check her out and those short pants look pretty darned familiar. Why? I gave them to her! After hanging in my closet for a year with the tag still intact, I passed them to her. She looked so good, I thought for a moment I wanted them back. But they simply aren’t “ME.”
The shoes to the left… now THOSE are ME! The only thing that’s standing between my feet and those wicked shoes is FedEx.