The other day a blog I wrote reminded me of this story. I had a hard time finding it, but I need a rerun tonight, so I’m going to use this one. I loved dresses until I was in second grade. I had to wear them of course, but no matter how pretty Kitty Reynolds made them, I just didn’t like wearing one…with one exception…my long red formal.
In another blog I wrote about the time I went to the cabin with Grandpa and Grandma Sanderson and Grandpa decided we should go to this big church in Rapid City. That was the first time he had done that when I was with them, and I hadn’t brought a dress, which didn’t bother Grandpa any. I wore blue and white striped bermuda shorts and held my legs together so everyone would think I was wearing a skirt. (I’m sure more people were wondering why I was walking with my knees together than would have noticed I had shorts on.)
Iowa relatives and Sanderson and Miller families at the cabin
The below story was told to me by me, so it must be true. It happened over 50 years ago.
I had to start wearing nylons. It seems that when you get to the 8th grade, you’re supposed to wear them when you dress up. We went to Winner for a music contest and that’s when some of the girls decided it was time to start wearing “hose.” I had to play a saxophone solo, and those darn nylons ruined it. Are there boys that read this? Oh well, I don’t care.
With the Haverberg and Sanderson cousins at Horse Creek
You have to wear a garter belt to hold your nylons up. It is a very weird contraption. It has long straps with a doohickey on the end that you put the top of your nylon over. Then, you have to pull another part over this button like thing. That’s what holds your nylons in place. There is a strap on the front and one on the back of each leg, so there are four altogether. The straps are attached to a garment that is held around your waist by elastic. I guess it’s sort of like a real short slip, only you still have to wear a slip too. The whole thing is called a garter belt. The nylons come separately.
Right in the middle of my solo, the doohickey on the back of one leg came loose, and the nylon slipped right off, which caused the front to sag. I finally got an opportunity to glance down when the piano player who was accompanying me, had a little part that I didn’t play my saxophone to. I could see the nylon was a wrinkled mess just like my Grandma’s hose (nylons) always are because they don’t make them small enough for her. Grandma wears a girdle to keep her nylons up, but it doesn’t work. Besides, you still have to deal with the doohickeys attached to the girdle. (Some older ladies just roll them down over a rubber band. I wonder if that works better.) Well, at least the front doohickey on my garter belt never came all the way off, which was a blessing.
Anyway, for the very first time in my life, I didn’t get a Superior on my solo, because I was too distracted to remember all of it. I can’t even tell people about it, because it’s going to sound like an elaborate excuse, and they’ll think the real reason is, I didn’t practice my solo enough times to memorize it better.
I’ll add this.
I must have been pretty traumatized or I wouldn’t have remembered so many details all these years later. I also made the mistake of wearing a red jumper that was like a shift. It was one of those dresses that you have to keep tugging on when you sit down. It was a long day, and it didn’t help that Mom was not too pleased that she had to drive us and listen to me play badly.
You’ll be happy to know that after years of therapy, I finally came to terms with my past. I wish I could have known I would forget most of it anyway. I could have saved a lot of money.