Get the picture? … by Sherry Hopkins

It seems that as I age I am less in control of my wardrobe than I would like to be.

I am not an overly vain woman (couldn’t you tell by looking). I only care that my clothes are clean and not in disrepair.

I don’t buy anything trendy and try to go with simple solids that will serve me in most instances.

But it seems as though I might need to pay a little more attention to detail.

Several months ago I was substitute teaching at one of our county schools. The class was a group of high schoolers. Near the end of class I excused myself to visit the restroom.

I checked and rechecked all appropriate clothing before I left the restroom.

I had on a long skirt at the time and I suppose I should have at least expected this outcome before it happened. But no siree, not me.

 I walk back into the classroom of teenagers with all the confidence befitting a grey-haired senior citizen that only thinks on half-baked at best.

I plopped down in my chair and oversaw the class as best I could. Occasionally I got up and walked about to let them know that I was not asleep and I was in charge.

At the end of the class as I stood to dismiss, a very polite and slightly embarrassed young lady walked over to inform me that my skirt was stuck in my underwear. It seems as though this has been the situation for most of the class.

In my humiliation and embarrassment I thanked the young girl and politely as possible yanked my skirt out from my britches.

So much for being in charge.

Just a couple of weeks ago I was bored, (which is when I get in the most trouble). I decided to go to the outlet mall and walk around. Fall clothes were out in abundance and I wanted to see what was new that I couldn’t buy, sort of a booster for a singular pity party.

At the first store I found lots of pretty things and decided it certainly wouldn’t hurt to try on a thing or two. It didn’t mean I had to buy anything.

I took a couple of items into the dressing room and tried them on.

I came out a bit later and had decided to purchase one top that was priced really low. I stood in line with ladies in front of me and ladies behind me. I left this store and visited several more before leaving, satisfied with my bargain.

About half way through my trip back home I reached up to scratch an itch on the back of my neck. It was then that I felt the clothes tag on the OUTSIDE of my top. I looked down and to my horror found that while in the dressing room I had put my top back on, inside-out. I had stood in line and walked in and out of stores and not one single person felt the need to mention to me that I was inside-out.

As I drove on I could only laugh at the predicaments I get myself into.

Later on I retold the story to Dear Don and he just shook his head laughing, “What am I going to do with you?” he wondered out loud.

And just so you don’t think I’m the only old boob, on a recent trip out Dear Don tried on a football jersey in the aisle of a store. When he tried to take it off the security tag which had a sharp pin in it scratched his head and pierced his hand. He was entangled in the shirt half on and half off with his hands bound above his head hollering, “Help me get this thing off; it’s attacking me.”

The very large man whose way was being blocked by Dear Don and his dilemma just shook his head laughing. He must have thought, “What is SHE going to do with him?”

It was a funny moment. All is back to semi-normal at the Hopkins’s household.

You get the picture.

(Contact award-winning columnist Sherry Hopkins at swhcsc@wildblue.net.)