Hand Me Downs

I broke a fifteen year dry spell in children on my Dad’s side of the family, and a ten year dry spell on my Mom’s side of the family. There are three female cousins on Dad’s side, all fifteen to twenty years my senior, and my Aunt on my Mom’s side (you’ve seen a comment or two from her because she’s the best Auntie ever). What does this all translate to?

Hand me downs, I has them. Or, more appropriately, had them growing up. Yes, I got new clothes. Yes, some of them had designer labels in them. Yes, that’s because my Dad made a deal with me wherein he would contribute to my Overpriced Designer Clothes fund the amount of money I would require for normal clothes and I made up the difference with babysitting money. But the hand me downs? They comprised at least half of my wardrobe. Which was great much of the time, as my cousins have great taste in clothes.

Then one day, after we moved from the North to Atlanta, the hand me down channels dried up. I had an easier time finding some crack or even some smack than some hand me down designer jeans. In one way, it was liberating- I got to the point where I had picked out every article of clothing in my closet. Empowering. In another way, it was expensive.

I’ve been aching for some new clothes lately. Work pants, sweaters (sweater weather- you are so close I can smell you!), cute skirts, etc. Obviously, when you’re facing certain financial disaster due to a sudden and very noticable drop in income, clothes shopping is out of the question. Very sad. I never really realized how immature I still am until I found myself in tears over the prospect of sitting on the sidelines while all the new fall sweaters come in.

Enter R’s Mom. She cleaned out her closet, and I mean she went bananas. She was ruthless. She has also fluctuated some in sizes over the years. So, like any super-awesome loyal BFF, R went through her Mom’s discards and picked out all the size 4 and 6 stuff for me, and all of B’s sizes for her, and presented each of us with a large departments store bag full of hand me downs.

Score! Two awesome skirts, a couple pairs of shorts, some long sleeved shirts, three fabulous sweaters, and the coup de grace…… dress pants. Lovely Ann Taylor and Talbot’s dress pants in black, black with creme pinstripe and gray. Oh, and a purple button down blouse that just screams my name. I slept with it last night. These hand me downs were just the pick me up I needed. Also, the progression of hand me down perspective has come full circle:

Age 8: Hand me downs! Sweet!

Age 18: No more hand me downs! Sweet!

Age 28: Erect a statue in honor of the sources of my incredible hand me downs! Sweet!

Now if someone would just discard a pair of plain black heels (1.5 or 2″) in a size 8 and a half? Nirvana. No peep toe, no patent leather, just sky high classic black heels. You hearin’ me Universe?

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2 Responses

  1. LOL!!!! I love hand me downs. I actually had my manicurist give me clothes when she lost weight. SWEET!!! She had great taste in clothes too.
    I hope you get your heels darlin’.

  2. Ummm sweetie – on no planet is 1.5 – 2″ heel considered sky high! 🙂

    Yay for hand me downs! I used to get great stuff from my older cousins too. Then my aunt used to give me her stuff.

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