Sorry, Europe/Maybe a Cute Scarf

I went over to my mom Kiki’s house the other day to review her wardrobe for our upcoming European summer trip.  She’s always more elegant than I am (not that high a bar), but she’s upping her game because, Europe.

“It’s just polite,” to not look too much like American beach bums in cities, she said. I know that, but I also have foot, thigh rub, and 50-something body change issues that make wearing anything other than sneakers and leggings a chore.

“It’s going to be hot, won’t you be hot?” She said, when I told her my plan to wear my black leggings sneakers uniform, even in Europe.

“I’d rather be hot than chafed and crippled,” I said. She was quiet, laying out her various white linen ensembles and new “comfortable” sandals.

Sorry, Europe. I’m gonna say please and thank you in all your languages, brush my hair, and be comfy. Is my plan. Was my plan.

And then, the second-guessing:  Can I wear what I know I need to wear to feel best, even in a new place, even at the risk of disappointing my actual mother? They do make all these under-shorts things for chafe, and there are “comfortable” sandals. 

I have tried these things before and I know that for me they are not as comfortable as leggings and sneakers.  Meaning, they roll up and ride down. Meaning, I get blisters, chafe, cramps, and can’t walk. Meaning, looking “right” negatively impacts my good time.

I don’t want to embarrass my mother or my Country (though really, are leggings for daywear our nation’s biggest problem? I think not). I guess now I’m of an age where elegant lady is what I’m supposed to go for, more than comfy.

Am I willing to walk the walk of taking care of myself when perhaps or actually others would have me do something else?  Am I willing to spend this week trying, again, to override what I already know, running around looking for magic sundresses and sandals when my deep inner knowing is that those garments are not for me?

I see the kids today wearing dresses with sneakers. Brings me back to  when I wore sundresses and combat boots in my teens. I was so cute. Was I comfy?  I remember a lot of self-consciousness, and my boss telling me I needed to wear pantyhose in LA summer and being appalled.

To me, elegance is wearing what I want to, and being kind. I can smile, tip well, and maybe add a cute scarf. It is what it is. I’m gonna keep going.

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