You remember picture day, don't you? You dress up in your nicest outfit and the photographer...a tired, drawn-looking guy who appears to have completely given up on life...takes all of thirty seconds to snap a photo of you, never bothering to mention that you have hair that has gone all cattywampus or a piece of carrot stuck in your teeth. THAT picture day.
|Picture Day, 1974|
Before you think that I actually want my picture taken—I don't—let it be known that employees of the school system have to get their pictures taken for their ID badges. The picture company then gives us a few photos for free. I rarely keep these photos, mainly because I always look hideous. Sometimes if one is halfway decent, I'll put it in a frame from the Dollar Tree and give it to my husband, but mostly they just get thrown in the trash.
This week, I decided I would wear a red tunic and some flowy black pants from Chico's. (If you know Chico's, you know their flowy old lady pants, which are ultra-comfortable.) I didn't do anything special in terms of hair or makeup; it was business as usual until I got to the kitchen and heard the eight words every woman longs to hear from her loving husband: You look like Hillary Clinton in that outfit.
I will be the first person to admit that Hillary and I are very similar “types.” We were small waisted, pear shaped women who have legs that could best be described as....can you use “zaftig” to descibe legs? Anyway, our legs are NOT our best feature. And, as women of a certain age, I think we have earned the right to keep covered our less-than-stellar body parts. Slacks with a tunic or long jacket do just that.
|I would totally wear this outfit!|
We are also blondish, though she has not always been as blonde as she is now. I am less blonde than I was, which puts us in the same range of blonde. We both wear glasses...I wear mine full-time and she doesn't. Neither one of us is particularly glamorous, but we both want to maintain what our mothers expected from us—to be clean and tidy and pulled-together. You won't see us running around in crop tops and yoga pants, that's for sure.
Hillary is from Lake Michigan and I am from Lake Ontario, so we both have that Great Lakes accent which makes us sound alike, as well. I can see how my husband might be confused.
Yes, I would prefer that my husband compare me to Heidi Klum or Gisele Bundchen when he talks about how I look in an outfit. But if he's talking about my capability, confidence, and intellect, I think Hillary will do.