Sister Mary, Where Are You?

Just when I think I can't be further appalled by the fashions of young people, along comes a new body-baring fad. Currently, it's a who-can-bare-the-most-bosom rage. 1950's Sister Mary would be stunned to sainthood.

I was a late-comer to the Catholic school where she taught in that era (I entered in the ninth grade), so I was naive about clothing taboos. But not for long. On my first day at school, Sister Mary sent me to see Sister Margaret, the wizened principal.

Sister Margaret, through my young eyes, looked about 110 years old. She frowned and pursed her lips at the sight of my blatantly sexy attire...a blouse with sleeves cut just above the elbows, and a circle skirt, poofed out with crinolines, that reached to just above my bare ankles. "Young lady," she said, authoritatively, "you must wear blouses with sleeves that reach past your elbows, and, for heaven's sake, wear socks with your shoes!" Did I want to give the boys ideas with my elbows and ankles on display like that?

Later, at home, I stood before a mirror. I saw my slender-to-the-point-of-skinny self, with pimples, drab brown hair that oozed oil onto my forehead no matter how much I washed it, arms that seemed too long, sharp, pointy elbows, and knobby-boney ankles.

I marvel that I wasn't swarmed by the boys that day.