All my life, Mary Frances has been the perfect model of the
perfect Southern Woman. Or at least HER
version of the perfect Southern Woman. ( If she had been my version of the
perfect Southern Woman I would have learned how to make mint juleps. But that is
a blog for another day.)
Mary Frances taught me that you must always wear an apron
when cooking. Dresses should hit your knee and you must wear a slip underneath.
Hair should be out of your face. She taught me to stand up straight, be
respectful, do my part, care for those in need, and to love God, family, books,
and country, not necessarily in that order. She also taught me that real
Southern ladies don’t wear pants.
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| Mom and I in aprons, circa 1988 |
So to this day, Mary Frances eschews pants.
From as long as I can remember she had only one pair of side-zipped,
denim pants. They were not JEANS mind you. They were fitted and tailored and
tidy. When she absolutely could not avoid wearing pants she pulled these
beauties out of the closet. So she wore them when our Girl Scout troop rode
bikes to Ramsey’s Crossroad and when our family went tent camping on the Blue
Ridge Parkway or if it snowed. I’ve seen
a photo of her wearing them at the beach. Though a bit proud of her ability to
be sporty, she seemed genuinely embarrassed to be wearing them as if she were
being caught in the act of doing something highly disreputable. Something like
wearing eye shadow (Real Southern Woman find eye shadow vulgar.)
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| Mama wearing pants, but hidden behind the Impala. |
So when the temperature dipped in January on the same day as
Mom’s scheduled permanent the morning went something like this.
ME: Mom, it’s 9 degrees outside. You will need to wear pants
when we go to Earl’s. (YES, it is true that my beloved hair guy and my beloved
husband share a name. Obviously the two most important men in my life.)
MF: I don’t need pants.
ME: Yes, you do.
MF: No I don’t.
ME: Yes. You. Do. Here is a pair of black sweat pants. You
can wear them with a blouse or put them on under you skirt. But it is too cold
to go without.
MF: (Pointing at her gossamer thin pantyhose) BUT I HAVE ON
STOCKINGS!
ME: No, Mom. It is 9 degrees. What if we get in an accident?
Then you will freeze solid in those stockings!
MF: I am fine.
ME: (AFTER A DEEP BREATH.) OKAY. Here’s the deal. It is too
cold to go outside without pants. You can either put on the pants or I am
calling Earl and canceling the appointment.
MF: (genuinely horror-stricken) We CAN’T cancel my
appointment!
ME: Yes. We can. And I need to know now so I can let Earl
know as soon as possible!!
MF: (Thrusting out a hand, disgusted.) Give them here.
MF: (Sweatpants are now caught on Mama’s shoes, which she
did not take off.) I can’t get them on. I don’t have to wear them.
ME: THEY ARE CAUGHT ON YOUR SHOES!!!
Together we pull and tug and soon enough the sweatpants are
on, under her skirt. As we head towards the door where more coats await Mary
Frances again voices her displeasure:
MF: These pants are heavy. They make it hard to walk!
We march to the frigid car and drive to the salon. It is
very quiet. The queen is displeased. Mama enters with a regal air but as if she
has been abducted from her throne and made to wear burlap. I explain to Earl
about the pants. Clearly they are beneath her. Earl gives me a sympathetic
smile, helps her into her chair, whisks
a protective cape around her shoulders and proceeds to give her a humdinger of
a perm.
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| My "other Earl" and Mary Frances AND the pants. |
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| Mary Frances, Mid-perm |
At the end she has forgotten about the sweatpants and looks radiant
with her new do.
Then she stands and realizes she is still wearing pants. She wrinkles her nose as if she smells spoiled
milk. And then fires one last volley.
MF: IF I FALL, IT IS BECAUSE OF THESE PANTS!!!
