Ever since I can remember "going back to school" meant having major anxiety. At first, I think it had something to do with what I would wear on the first day, for my sister it was about weather or not she had enough school supplies. Then for me, it became more about who I thought was planning to beat me up, or walk behind me with her minions and voice her disapproval of my very existence. But that's a whole other story.
The summer I'm talking about here was between 8th and 9th grade. I was worried my mom wouldn't flip the bill for my extensive clothing list and that she would state some arguement like, "you can't even fit all the clothes you already own into your closet" or some such nonsense. Never mind the fact that I didn't really try to fit them in my closet. I figured, why bother? I was just going to wear them again anyway. It was the same philosophy I had about making my bed. I was just going to sleep in it again the next night and unless the Queen would be stopping over for a tour, nobody was going to see it unmade.
In an attempt to preempt my mothers arguments I decided to have a garage sale. I invited my neighbor ladies to join me. They brought over a lot of good stuff. Including a set of dusty old drapes for the late 50s early 60s, with the biggest floral pattern I had ever seen. The background was a worn and faded navy and the flowers were bright, or they used to be bright, lime green. My mind started to race. What could I use all that fabric for? I loved to make things and that was a big cheap pile of fabric. I know! Hammer pants!
Remember MC Hammer? He had the greatest pants. Big, crazy harem leg bags.
I didn't even bother to wash the drapes first. I just started sewing. I used the pleated part at the top for the waist band, you know the part where the hooks usually go? Yea, that part. My pants were spectacular! The calf section was so tight it was hard to get my foot through. Just how I wanted it. And the crotch, well it was triumphant! Steatched out, it measured about two feet and rested just at the knees. I couldn't wait to wear them to school.
The problem with wearing them to school was obvious enough. I was already the target of bullying, what were they going to do to me if I wore an old curtain to school? I didn't want to find out that bad.
Then it happened, I found some girls who didn't wish to hurt me, or trick me or make up things about me. They just wanted to include me, laugh with me and have fun. That was all the encouragement my pants and I needed.
The first dance of the school year was coming up. Perfect opportunity to break out the
pants. But what does one wear with such a creation? Luckily, I had been in a play a couple summers back. The Sound of Music. I played Brigitta. There was a little white blouse that had been part of my costume, it worked. Didn't detract from the outfit's focal point.
As I walked down the steps from my room ready to go to the dance, my mother stood there silent. But really, what fashion advice can a mother give to her 14 year old daughter that she'd listen to anyway? None, that's what. Oh, she'd have loved it if I'd been one to wear sweater sets and matching slacks. I'm basing that on the clothes she purchased for me in my absents. The decision had been made, there was no turning back now.
Wouldn't you know it, the rest of the school was speechless too! I don't even think anyone threatened to beat me up. It was a really fun night. The only thing I was asked was, "you made those yourself? Out of curtains? Really?" If you think about it, what kind of ridicule would a teenager have for someone brave enough to wear housewares and call it fashion? It gave me the courage to wear the pants again, this time during the day.
I thought I better wash them first. They had to be at their best.
Here's where the trouble comes into paradise. You can't throw twenty five year old fabric in the washing machine and expect it to come out perfect. Especially if that fabric has been hanging in a window all those years.
My spectacularly triumphant creation disintegrated. The only thing left of my pants was the waist band. You know the part where the hooks go? Yea, that part.
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