Submitted by Helen Roser

 Being a tomboy, I was busy climbing trees in my coveralls when my mother called me to come home.  Company was coming.   Time to clean up.

My mother said she was going to be a nervous wreck from trying to make a lady out of me.  I was a skinny kid with straight red hair and big feet.

My good dresses had a sash from a side seam that tied in a big bow in back.  If I hardly moved at all, it came undone and hung down.  I also had to wear  a big bow clamped in my hair which, without provocation, skidded down my hair and hung off my ear.

But there was one good thing.  I got to wear my dressup shoes.  They were black patent leather sandals with straps that fastened with silver buckles.  They were gorgeous and I wanted to look at them all the time.

I didn't have to curtsy when company came, like my girlfriends did.  My mother settled for me sitting like a lady.  She whispered: “Sit still and keep quiet.”  So I did, so nothing would come untied or fall off.  But I so wanted to stick my feet out so I could look at my beautiful shoes.

A neat thing about being an adult was wearing beautiful expensive shoes, for as long as aging limbs allowed.