From Fab to Frau

When did I turn into such a hausfrau? I used to be hip. I was “with it.” I used phrases like “to the max” or “far out.” I once “laid rubber.” (Stop laughing.) Of course, it was only because I got stuck in the mud, stomped on the accelerator and squealed my tires as soon as my car tires hit pavement . . . but it still counts. The policeman thought so, too, once he got his breath back from laughing so hard. I didn't think it was that funny. At least not until years later.

I was “bad,” in a “nerd trying to be cool” sorta way. I skipped school – but only once and only for an hour. It wasn't the smartest thing to do considering I worked in the principal's office last hour as an assistant to the secretary and I wasn't about to skip that. I was hoping my teacher wouldn't notice I'd missed her class and rat me out or worse, ask me where I'd been. (I was at my fellow school skipper's house.) I would have folded like a house of cards. Lucky for me, they didn't mention it so neither did I.

I was a bit of a “rebel” back in the day. I'd wear sweatshirts wrong side out and blue jeans with the hems rolled up to show off my penny loafers with the tassels and a penny in each shoe. It was hard to get those suckers into that tiny slot, but I did it. The fact that it took two weeks to see which would break first, my feet or the shoes, was the price I was willing to pay for “fashion” (a/k/a chic hobo).

It's hard to be hip when you're cruising the main drag with the windows down, the breeze blowing through your hair, and the “Monkees” blasting from your eight-track tape player.* That just goes to show how really hip I was (and to see how many times I can say “hip” in one column).

Being hip and a trendsetter back in the day was quite a challenge for someone like me. I'm a blender. Not in the sense of the appliance you plug into the wall but more like a chameleon. I desperately wanted to fit in and stand out at the same time.

I was discussing this with my husband the other day. Don't ask me why. Talking to him about feelings is such a waste of words. The reason for this is he's a guy. If the subject isn't football, softball or any other kind of ball, he's pretty much not involved in any discussion. But I try. I broached the subject of my high school angst the other day.

I sat down next to him, entwined my arm around his and whispered, “Do you think I'm hip?”

“What's wrong with your hip?” he replied, snaking his arm back.

Frustrated, I tried again. “I said, do you think I'm hip?”

“I'm not about to answer that question. Last time I mentioned you were getting a little hippy, I ended up sleeping on the couch for a week.”

“I didn't ask if you thought I was getting hippy, I asked you if you thought I was HIP,” I shouted.

“Well, you don't have to shout at me,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I do,” I replied.

David's getting a little hard of hearing. Okay, he's very hard of hearing. I probably don't hear as well as I used to (not that'd I admit it) so our conversations can be quite frustrating, to say the least. I think he tends to mumble just to get back at me for shouting. It's either that or repeat myself over and over and over.

Come to think of it, he never was much of a talker when we were dating and neither was I. Most of the time on our dates we'd spend it listening to Charlie Pride, Wanda Jackson, Lynn Anderson, Moe Bandy and others on his eight-track tape player in his car or his reel-to-reel in his house.

At least my taste in music has upgraded from bubblegum pop to countrywestern. I no longer read Tiger Beat or People magazines. (You know you're old when you don't recognize anyone in People anymore.)

I'm a little less nerdy now but I don't think my choice in clothing has changed much. I'm still more chic hobo than fashionable chic but that's okay with me as long as the grandkids don't find out. I've got them fooled into thinking I'm actually cool. Kids are so easy to trick. LOL

*For information on the 8-Track Tape Player, search the “Museum of Obsolete Media.”