I have always been sort of a rebel. When I was little my grandma used to pull me aside to remind me that I am “fabulous” and I would look at her like she was a crazy woman. I was a little bit of homely smacked with freckles and a toothy smile. I was the dorky version of Pippi Long-stocking. Really. What looked cool on Pippi make me look like a circus reject.

As a minister’s child I wore the rejects of every person in our church, openly so they knew how much we appreciated them. I know, there seems to be a slight feeling of resentment in that sentence so you did read it rightly. Of course we appreciated the nice intentions, it was just hard to wear them sometimes and be constantly reminded ”That old thing used to be my favorite dress.” The smile on my face was pinched and painful.

Later on in life I got a job just as soon as I was legally allowed to and half my check went to my parents and the other half I spent on clothes. I was in heaven. Overtime? Sure–that means new shoes. I was one motivated clothes horse in the making. Who knew how obsessed I would become with shoes later in life?

As soon as my grandmother showed me how to sew I was whipping out clothes left and right. I would cut, sew and wear and outfit the same day. I was a clothes obsessed woman. “Fashion” was something I dreamt of. It was my focus in life at the time to look “put together” and make a “fashion statement.” My parents on the other hand were just praying I would stay modest and prim. How does one be modest and prim while being fashionable?

I, of course would have to whack out the path for others to follow. Perhaps I have pioneer blood. Fashionable was something I seemed insistent upon locating or at least discovering. When you are already limited, a budget then seems to add to the challenge. This hayseed was going to be fashionable one way or the other. My parents were very concerned about the “other.”

My parents surprised me right before school started by telling me to take my whole check and go buy myself school clothes. I was sure I heard a herald of angels sing because obviously I was in heaven. All day long I meticulously planned my outing for the next day, mapping out our tiny mini mall in our little town.

The next morning I was out of the house and down there in a flash. They don’t open until 10am? That is absurd! I sat there for three hours and waited; dreaming of a thousand looks of stylish that a silly dork from the country could imagine. I had big hopes for my little paycheck.

My thoughts ran back to the advice in fashion which the most fashionable woman in my life had bestowed upon me. My grandma. I know you didn’t see that one coming did you. A grandma? She was tall, lean and had a smile that beamed. Grandma would pull me aside and offer advice that now just seemed logical but back then it was a revelation. This woman was cool. She could do the splits at age 45!

Fashion according to Grandma: Never wear two prints together. No white before a certain day and no black after. Always wear hose with a skirt. Stick with a solid for bottoms and prints for tops so you have more flexibility. I sat there ticking off the rules in my head, making sure I stayed on course. Number one rule was always “How many ways can you wear this with what you already have?”

When the mall finally opened I froze in my tracks. What if I went in and saw so many beautiful things that I couldn’t make a decision? I gave myself a time limit and told myself not to buy anything at all until I had gone into each store. Wow. Was I wound up tight or what?

I stuck to my plan,checked out each store and then sat in the middle of our tiny mall when my time was up, then considered everything I had saw and tried on. Carefully I put together outfits in my head until I was satisfied and then made my purchases and headed home from my triumphant shopping extravaganza.

Excited to show my parents and bursting with pride I pulled out my purchases as they stood there waiting patiently. Their eyes were filled with shock and disbelief. Why? Because I pulled from the shopping bags one screaming yellow pair of overalls, three striped t-shirts, jeans, and a pair of Nikes that were screaming yellow and green.

They probably thought my fashion statement was somewhere between Mork (From Mork and Mindy) and that Pippi person I disliked so much. My parents were speechless and that is saying a lot. I sat there all animated telling them all the outfits I could make with what I had plus my new pieces. In fact, I was so excited that I missed it when my Dad said “Holy Crap.”

Later I came out of my fashion fog and grew out of these prizes, I handed them down to my younger sister who wore them as proudly as I had. Much to the chagrin of our parents those yellow overalls never fell apart and in fact they seemed impervious to stains and rips. They were blessed by the fashion angels.

Now many MANY years later I think of this fondly and add to it my “Madonna” stage, the time I “just knew” pink and brown were going to be big (I was right), and of course that time I had to have pointy-toed pumps in every color. Never mind that they looked hurt like heck. My Bo-Derek hair-do must be the most noteworthy of all and the most perplexing.

Last month my daughter dyed her beautiful natural auburn hair bright blue, which over auburn translated to green. While I mourned her hair I knew this would pass and sure enough it did. I guess a boyfriend’s Mom telling her is looked bad meant it was truth. Forget about the fact I had already said that.

When I complained to my Mom she smiled and just said, “Well it isn’t some ugly bright yellow pair of overalls.” Seems I will never get away from Pippi.