The Red Hat Society can think what they want; I know how old ladies are. They wear what they like and the world be damned. So tonight, I join the old ladies of the world. It's cold and I want to be warm. I'm wearing, not carefully coordinated red and purple, but a green and brown flowered dress, a red and blue checked flannel shirt, gray and black striped socks and my favorite flowered slippers. Fashion police do not visit this far out in the country, and if they do, they'd be welcome to sit in a rocker by the fire, kick off their tight high heels, listen to the whippoorwills and tell me just why I might need to wear coordinated outfits where no one but the chickens and my dogs will see me.
And after they finish explaining this to me, I'll tell them about the letters found in the trash from the old cabin, the hankies my mother always carried, my father-in-law's miners certificate, how my parents met in world War II, and let them tell me again why I need to wear matching outfits. Maybe one day I'll understand, but not in this lifetime.
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