Prisoner's Sweethearts

"I'll wear the 'Prisoner's Sweethearts' today," announced "V", gesturing towards her sock drawer.  Her tone sounded somewhat proud, and her words were quite pointed and deliberate.

 

I was helping her to get dressed on a recent Saturday morning, and up until this point in our relationship, nothing she had said or done had confused me in the least.  "V" is a very dignified woman who knows exactly what she wants, as well as how to ask for it.   And at ninety-five, I believe she is entitled to live the Burger King way of life and have things "her way."

 

My look of bewilderment as I stared down at the sock drawer seemed to strike "V" as amusing, and she smiled as she clarified her request.  "The black and white ones, Dear.  Please get me those."

 

Looking down again, I surveyed the socks, all lined up neatly in rowed pairs organized by color and style.  I wasn't surprised.  "V" is very orderly, and truth be told, my socks are arranged almost exactly the same way.  Except that most of them are not ankle length, "hospital" socks.  You know... the kind with the little rubber grippers on the bottoms to keep the wearer from sliding across a non-carpeted floor.  I suspect that they come with experience, and I am entirely certain that I will earn many of my own "hospital" socks in good time.

 

Actually, they are very popular now among the non-infirmed population.  I remember buying a pair for "M" last holiday season at the local drug store, thinking that the grippers would provide her with a sense of safety as she learned to navigate the tiled areas in her new home.  I had chosen a pair that matched her pajamas, and for a dollar, I was quite proud of my purchase.  I pictured her face lighting up as she opened her stocking on Christmas morning.  Boy, did I call that one wrong!  I'll never forget the scowl the usually smiling "M" made as she looked at the "booties," or the adamancy in her voice as she declared that she would "never wear" such silly socks.  Definitely another woman who knew exactly what she wanted... and didn't want!  (By the way, I bought a similar pair for my own stocking, and when I opened my "booties", I was thrilled!)

 

I took what I would have referred to as "Zebra socks" out of "V"s chest-of-drawers, and carefully put them on her feet.  "V" prefers not to wear shoes unless she is going out somewhere, and this day was to be an indoor adventure.  It took a few seconds for the meaning of her description to dawn on me, but I quickly admitted my ignorance, and laughed along with "V".   There are a lot of interesting phrases and terms that "V" uses that are not part of my generation's terminology, but usually I've heard them before.  "Prisoner's Sweetheart" was a new one, and perhaps could be explained by the fact that "V"s late husband had worked for many years in a nearby correctional facility.

 

What was even funnier to me, and something that "V" did not know I was chuckling about, was the fact that the black and white skid-proof booties did not match the rest of her ensemble in the least!  "V" chooses her own clothing every day, as she should, and the weekend outfits are generally quite casual.  They also tend to be very plain and solid, like the peach-colored cotton top and light blue denim pants she had picked out for today.  The prim and proper initial image I had of her was now turned topsy-turvy!

 

"That's quite a fashion statement!" I jokingly told her as she headed for the dining room table, ready to start off a new day of conversation and companionship.  Flamboyancy did not seem to be her usual style, and I couldn't help but point that out to her once we were seated over breakfast. 

 

"I know," she replied, "but I like them!"  Case closed.  End of discussion.  Nothing else needed to be said on the topic. 

 

I could completely understand the desire to wear clothing that was to one's liking.  A significant portion of my growing up years took place during the 1970's, and I had suffered through some of what I consider to be the most hideous fashion trends EVER!!!  I still cringe when I look back at school photographs in which the kids, including ME, are sporting bell-bottomed pants (often pant suits!), pitifully patterned plaid shirts (and skirts), and worst of all, shag hair-cuts!  Ugh!  What was society thinking of at that time?  Never has there been an era when articles of clothing were so poorly conceived... and mismatched!

 

Then again, this is just my perspective based on what I was forced to wear in my youth.  Everyone has a perception that is based on their own life experience, and I was soon to learn what a difference, a decade... or two... or ten... can make! 

 

When I shared my woeful description of my school-days attire with "V", I got no sympathy whatsoever.  "I didn't think those clothes were so bad," she said rather surprisingly, thus peaking my interest to hear more of her perspective from a very different era indeed.
 

I had already seen some striking black and white photographs throughout "V"s home in which she was wearing the fashion that was "all the rave" at the time.  Many of "V"s pictures reminded me of my Grandmother when she was younger.   I remember thinking how fabulous Grandma looked in her "Flapper" clothes, as she always appeared to be poised, posed and perfectly precocious in some of the shots.  That's what "V"s photos reminded me of, and I told her as much.

 

Now it was her turn to groan.  "Ugh!" she sighed, and I sensed that a revealing truth was about to be uncovered.  "Do you know how uncomfortable some of those clothes were?" she queried, drawing out the word uncomfortable in an agonizing way.  "And the corsets!  They were the worst!" she continued, a visible pain growing more and more evident in her expression.  "I couldn't wait to get out of those!  I felt like a prisoner!" 

 

This statement shed a whole new light on the "Roaring Twenties" for me, as well as a serious reconsideration of the phrase "don't judge a book by its cover."  No wonder all the women from the 1800's always looked so miserable!   Imagine what they had to wear under their clothing?  Layer after layer after layer of the most uncomfortable linens imaginable?  Double Ugh!  I don't think it was much better for the men, either, judging from their similar sour countenances.

 

I could empathize with the feeling of being a prisoner in my own clothes.  Especially when I looked at those 1970's polaroid photographs!  Perhaps it is something that every generation must endure, although I would safely say that the element of choice that today's young people have in their wardrobe options is far more broad than any generation prior! 

 

I asked "V" about the fashion changes she had seen in her lifetime, and she just smiled and said there were "too many to remember."  I would imagine so.  During the course of our weekend together, "V" and I watched some classic romance movies on television that spanned from the 1934 Clark Gable/Claudette Colbert gem, "It Happened One Night" to the 1992 Richard Gere/Julia Roberts "modern" classic, "Pretty Woman."  "V" and I were absolutely amazed by the changes in women's clothing over the span of sixty years, as well as by the fact that a film about a prostitute falling in love with a millionaire and living happily ever-after could be shown on the ABC Family Channel!  Now there was a deafeningly loud and perhaps all-too-clear statement that times have definitely changed since "V" was a young woman.  At least as far as the media is concerned, that is.

 

During the commercials, we were of course treated to another endless array of advertisements aimed at, you guessed it, female fashion.  At least this was a change from the infomercials we had suffered through the weekend before on how to look younger, or, if that wasn't possible, how to survive looking and being older!

 

"V" has a wonderful habit that I need to adopt in my own life.  She turns off the sound whenever a commercial comes on.  It doesn't matter what the commercial is for.  Weight-loss products.  Hair growth stimulants.  Becoming a "Fashionista!"  The volume goes down to zero instantly!

 

We had to laugh at the painful visual images of one commercial in particular commercial.  It was supposed to be an advertisement for a new fall line of shoes.  But all "V" and I could see were heels.  Nothing but heels.  Some of them at least four inches high!  With women actually walking in them!  Both of our mouths hung open in a mixture of horror and fascination... kind of like watching a train wreck. 

 

"I wonder if these women feel like prisoners in those shoes?" I asked "V" quite earnestly.  She shook her head back and forth, and sighed a sound of relief.  "V" looked like the picture of contentment from the comfort of her reclining chair, black and white socks sticking distinctively out at the end of her outstretched, age-weary legs.  A very lovely site to behold!  Good for "V".  At ninety-five, she was finally having it "her way!"

 

There are so many aspects about aging that are extremely painful and quite difficult to endure, many of them robbing a person of their dignity and freedom of choice.  But happily, being able to wear soft, fuzzy, slid-proof "Prisoners' Sweethearts" that do not in any way match the rest of your outfit certainly did not appear to be one of them.   Good for "V"!