A Slippery Slope

Do you remember, back in the day, Dear Reader, when we all wore slips with our skirts and dresses? I vividly remember the afternoon a slip turned into a personal milestone.

Mama and I were sitting on the couch folding laundry. I was maybe a freshman in high school. She was folding hers and Daddy’s underwear while I folded mine and my brother’s. So, how did a slip turn into a milestone?

Oh, I wasn’t about to question whether or not to wear a slip. That was just something ladies did. In Mama’s world it was Godliness, cleanliness, and being a lady that governed everything else. Even cousins and girlfriends got the same sermons from “Lu-Lu”.

Like everything else in our house, it was Mama’s way or the highway, including how laundry was folded. Have you tried to fold a nylon slip lately, Dear Reader? It’s kind of tricky, right?

I was on my third or fourth try of folding a full slip the way Mama had shown me and getting pretty frustrated. What do you do with the straps? How do you get the side seams to line up when they keep sliding up and down?

(Is it any wonder that this gal has more than her share of neuroses?)

Anyway, Mama and I were talking and folding, each one of us paying attention to our share of the laundry. I finally decided to fold the slip the best I could and so it would fit into  my chest of drawers.

All of a sudden, Mama stopped in mid-fold, looked at the slip then me, and asked, “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

I looked at the slip, now neatly (more or less) folded on my lap, and honestly, Dear Reader, it must have been a God moment. I calmly and respectfully said, “Mama, just because I don’t do something the same way as you doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

It was pivotal! For both of us. From that point forward Mama usually thought of me as a person in my own right, not just a replica of her.