The Skirt, by Bob Cornell
We were excited about being invited to such a lavish event. We were propelled several steps up the social ladder simply by attending.
We were buoyed with an enhanced feeling of importance, and would not allow any self-generated spectacle to occur.
I showered and shaved, and even cut and filed my nails and toenails, very few events in my life had necessitated the latter.
“Is that dress not much too short?” I said, ogling my wife. “If you wear it, you will certainly be the center of attention at the ball. It greatly oversteps the bounds of moderation.”
“Yes, I agree with you,” Jill said. “But, Hank it’s the style.” “You mean you are committed to wear a scant piece of cloth, which gives the impression that you married me for much more than my money, just because it’s in style!”
“I have studied the most recent fashion magazines and a dress this length has gained broad approval.”
“That garment may have the approval of the experts but I beg of you, please, do not wear a loin cloth to the most important social event of our lives thus far.”
I was greatly surprised by her quick agreement. She slipped out of the hand towel and into another recent acquisition. Both she and I thought it was very stylish despite the lengthy hemline which rested slightly above the knee.
Slightly revealing, but elegant.
“That’s the good stuff,” I nodded, and off we went to the social event of the year.
At the ball, we were seated next to two very cordial people we had never met.
We engaged them in small talk before Jill asked them what they did professionally.
When he replied, ‘as little as possible,’ I felt that the man in their household was a joker.
He was an accountant with his own firm and she was a housewife. They excused themselves to freshen up, which gave us the opportunity to look around the room.
I was dumbfounded by what I saw.
All of the women were wearing dresses as short or shorter than the dress my wife had changed out of.
They embraced the current notions of style, I supposed, and the revelation of their previously clothed bodies. Don’t misunderstand me, the revelation aspect of their new found style was fully acceptable with me although it seemed to be rather gauche.
I felt that the issue would transform into an argument as soon as we returned home. In an effort to avoid this, I decided to spend the evening on the dance-floor with my wife. I also decided that she should have slightly more wine than she may have normally imbibed.
I too, had several glasses of wine, which placed me in the category of being rather ‘tipsy’.
I was going to get Jill another glass of something red, when I stumbled and bumped into the non-alcoholic punch bowl. It soared off the table and skated across the dance floor, finally halting with a crash into the bandstand. The dance floor had of course, been fully doused in the fruit punch.
I had managed to make the spectacle that I was trying to avoid, a reality. We excused ourselves, now that dancing had been suspended, and began that humiliating drive home. Considering the stumble I had taken, we decided that Jill would drive home.
During the drive I considered my position on style. Well, first of all it sells many clothes, which was important for the economy and job market. Second, I should have just let Jill wear the short dress. We’d still be at the ball, mingling and sipping wine, enjoying our new status in the social echelon. And third, style really sucked.
Bob Cornell has been married to the same girl for 49 years. He is a college graduate. He has two daughters that live in the same general vicinity who have produced three inspiring grandchildren. He has written 6 non-fiction books which have not been published and has written for local newspapers. He loves to write and hopes that his stories are well enjoyed.
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Tags: bob cornell, short skirt, style