I bought a pair of “good white pants” this spring at DB Designs in Roaring Gap. Over the summer I dribbled blueberry juice in my lap, splashed an entire iced tea down my leg and everywhere else, (no longer welcome in the Atlanta Bread Company Smyrna location) and smeared my butt with road dirt while the trunk door was open. They are great pants and did not disappoint. Each assault on their whiteness came clean in the wash.
My reputation as a spiller went on but I was undaunted. Unless it was raining or tragically gloomy outside, I wore those, (or other) white pants all summer to take full advantage of the short period between Memorial Day and Labor Day during which the whitest of whites is seen as appropriate attire…at least in the world where I was raised.
It may sound silly, but I really like the constraints of limited wearing time between the two holidays. It’s “seasonal” just like Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. You wouldn’t wear a pumpkin embellished shirt in May, would you? Or, maybe you would, and therefore fall into the, “I’ll wear what I want, when I want” school of thought.
But for me, I’ll go white for three months, and promptly switch back to khakis and black tights on the first Monday in September, for fear of hearing Mother’s words in my head. That exasperated tone I remember so well, stripped of all hope she would ever get the daughter she wanted or expected after all her hard work in the child-rearing department.
I wear white as she would have wanted me to, between Memorial Day and Labor Day. I do it out of respect for her attempts to turn me into a proper lady. And while I do, I’ll work to grant myself forgiveness for all the years I exhibited those same maternal behaviors.
From the big box of endless pictures.