The Grandma Shirt

She wrinkles up her nose. She glares at me with eyes that spell out the word “eeww”.

No, Mickey doesn’t like the same clothes I like. And when I try to show her something classic, she makes the same face at me. “That looks like a grandma shirt,” she says.

I’m not in the dark about fashion. I know what people are wearing. I know what’s in and what’s out. But I also know what I like and don’t like. I don’t like shirts that are skin tight. I don’t like jeans that are so low cut that a person has to make sure they have coordinating undergarments on. After all, I grew up in the era where girls tried to make sure their bra straps didn’t show.

I do like the classic, uncomplicated clothes. Sweatshirts. Jeans. Cardigan sweaters and roomy t’s.

Last winter I found myself picking up and contemplating the purchase of an awesome navy blue sweatshirt with a snowman appliqué on it. After my inner voices wrestled back and forth with themselves about the shirt, my younger self won. I couldn’t force myself to buy it.

Because my mom wears shirts like that.

Yesterday I spotted a red sweatshirt with Christmas trees appliquéd on the front. I picked it up. I liked it. I put it back down. I walked around the store one more time.

I thought to myself, “You are a grandma, for heaven’s sakes. Buy the darn shirt.”

Yes, I have come to realize that you get to a point in your life where you finally admit to yourself that it’s okay to dress as you like, wear your hair as you like – and quit using the Loving Care.

I’m not quite there yet – but I can feel it coming.

And I’m kind of okay with that – kind of.