1950 Memories of Suburban Adventures

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Movie Star Allure

A ‘center of attention’ requires footwear more glamorous than Keds.

It’s entirely possible I wasn’t Mrs. Kill’s favorite neighborhood child (for good reason). When her children played games, if anyone improvised the guidelines, she said they were playing by Mary’s rules. There is nothing wrong with inventive rules, when they are mine.

Mrs. Doty was undaunted by my escapades. She said I had lots of personality and enjoyed my high spiritedness. Of course, she only had a newborn baby, too young for me to influence.

Mom and I went to see her baby and bring a gift. Mrs. Doty opened the door, wearing a beautiful almost-see-through negligee and mule slippers with little squash-heals and fluffy balls of pink bunny fur on the toes. She looked like a movie star.

Mom dressed nicely, even when staying home, and always had clean styled hair, but she didn’t have exotic nightgowns and slippers–that I ever saw.

During our walk home, I asked, “Mom, how come you don’t wear fancy clothes like Mrs. Doty?”

“How would I clean house, cook, and take care of you kids if I went around in a nightgown and high-heels?”

If I looked this great in a tutu, imagine how good I'd look in see-through negligee and fancy slippers.

If I looked this great in a tutu, imagine how good I’d look in a see-through negligee and fancy slippers.

I didn’t care; I wanted Mom and me to look like movie stars, too. It’d put a crimp in my tree climbing, but the boys would have to be blind (hopefully Lenny’s eyes had healed by now) not to take notice.

The following Christmas, I asked Santa for a fancy nightgown and slippers like Mrs. Doty’s, but he couldn’t find any. He brought flannel pajamas and moccasins–warm, but not stylish. But what can you expect from a guy in a red velvet suit?

Fast forward: I didn’t forget my movie star vision. During my early employment years, I bought countless peignoir-sets and fluttered about the living room, with illusions of being a desirable and worldly woman. The mule-slippers hurt my feet and got relegated to the back of my closet.

Lesson learned: Do not bring a silky peignoir to a large co-ed friends-only camping trip. You will not get the sort of looks you planned on, and you will be cold at night.

Related Posts: Boy Crazy/Impressing Boys ; Boy Crazy/Tale of Two Lennys

Now it’s your turn: What outfit fed your fantasies?

© Mary Norton-Miller and 1950s Suburban Adventures, 2012 forward. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Mary Norton-Miller and 1950s Suburban Adventures with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


6 Comments

  1. parrillaturi says:

    Very engaging! A tutu, no less! Did you ever do any ballet dancing? Were you discouraged by someone..or did you make up your mind that this was not for you?

    Here’s what fed my fantasy. As a young child, I envisioned myself as the hero, riding on a white horse, with both guns blazing, as I rode long and hard, in order to save the damsel in distress. Of course, there was no damsel. Roy Rogers was my hero. I would strap on my two cap pistols, and away I would walk, not run, nor ride, just walk to the next block, and play Cowboys, and Indians, in a very busy street, in Brooklyn. I was living out my fantasy. I still think I’m a hero.lol

    • skinnyuz2b says:

      Thanks, Parr. Yes, I took a year of ballet and tap. We moved to a rural area right before fifth grade, too far to drive for dance lessons.
      Check out my post ‘Special Delivery’ for some Roy Roger/Dale Evans lyrics. See if you remember them.
      Once a cowboy hero, always a cowboy hero. Where were you when I dreamed of becoming a saloon girl (Name Game)? I could have used a cowboy hero then. Of course, I would have tried to outdo you at every challenge and you would have run for the hills.

  2. lewiscave says:

    In terms of wardrobe nothing specific fed my fancy. However, I love attention as much as the next person so I have been out in a brownie costume a few times. Six guys in their thirties wearing skirts definitely attracts attention. Thanks for the story!

    Side Note: To the best of my knowledge I am not a clone.

    • skinnyuz2b says:

      Gee, Lewis, I bet the brownie outfit fed a few fantasies that weren’t neccessarily your own, ha ha. Six guys, huh? At least you were in good company … or were you?
      If you watch any sci-fi, then you must realize that a clone is the last one to find out he/she is a clone.

  3. Mimmy Jain says:

    I wanted curly, golden locks, oh so bad! You see, I had (have) fine black (well, the grey is slowly winning) hair that is neither straight nor curly, sort of in-between? And I am an Indian, so golden was not possible, not in this life at least (those were the days before blonde came out of a carton). My dad finally relented (to my mum’s horror) and allowed me a perm — when I was all of 11. I came out of the salon with hair that would have been the envy of any Afro-Caribbean person. It took a year to grow out that horrid perm, a year in which I was ragged to tears at school.

    • skinnyuz2b says:

      Oh Mimmy, I was the victim of a horrible perm, too. I can sympathize completely. And I have always struggled with my bushy hair and wished for straight, especially during the early 70s when straight hair parted in the middle was a requirement. It seems like we always want what we don’t have.

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