As I flipped through the rack of pants at my favorite clothing store the bright colors and patterns reminded me of days of yore. In my youth I modeled a one piece sleeveless jumpsuit for my dad. Aqua blue with a pink and green paisley pattern, front zipper and wide bell bottoms, zowee! I was hot stuff. Daddy quickly burst my bubble when he asked, “You’re not wearing your pajamas out in public are you?”

Sheesh.

He failed to appreciate how groovy I really was. It didn’t matter. I wore them anyway and relished the praise I received from the girls who asked where I had scored such a one piece wonder. “My mom made it.” I replied nonchalantly. She and I had picked out the pattern and fabric together. Today these are called palazzo pants. But they’re not nearly as groovy as the ones I wore since they don’t have the top attached. Apparently some wise designer finally realized that it’s a big ol’ pain to come out of that one piece wonder when visiting a public restroom… or any restroom for that matter… especially if one happens to be in a hurry.

I tentatively picked out a few pair of palazzos in multiple sizes to try on. In my brain I am still groovy. However, in the dressing room… not so much. Holy cow.

Seriously. Holy cow!

Well, except for the holy part.

Maybe it’s the mirrors or the lighting or…

No matter how far I stepped back or turned or tilted my head sideways the view was not improving. But man! Are they comfortable!

Perhaps with a longer shirt, or taller shoes or different underwear or if I ate some celery for crying out loud…

To be fair, I do eat celery… every Thanksgiving. It just happens to be surrounded by dressing and gravy.

Reality sunk in that day in the dressing room of Cato’s. I still enter on the side where the young chicks shop because in my heart I am still groovy. However my rear end has graduated to the grander side of life. There should be no palazzo pants for me.

I guess you can’t go home again.

That’s okay. I will rest in the reality that I have wisdom, and maturity, and years of experience.

Years and years and years of experience…

Besides… who wants to go out in public in their pajamas anyway?

PS:

The vintage pattern is complements of Pinterest. Palazzos are featured at Cato’s where they are advertised as “Soft Bottoms.” Does that strike anyone else as funny?

Also if you are my age and choose to wear palazzo pants may I just say, “More power to ya sistuh!” No judgment here! Bravery comes in all sizes.

Obviously.