Loving Madras

I searched for a better picture to point out how much I loved my madras shirt but this is all I could find-geeky me with my hair in pin curls and barefoot. (While the pin curls are no longer, barefoot is still a preferred way to be). It was taken on a summer evening at suppertime when we all lived in a row of four houses out on that rambling country road. We'd pool whatever anyone had prepared for supper-gathering under an aunt's pine trees. And more often than not-I'd show up wearing my madras shirt. My mother (sitting beside me sipping a cup of coffee) would have to pry the thing off me to wash it. I loved that shirt!

Actually I loved anything madras. Problem was I didn't have much of anything made from it hanging in my closet. Aside from that shirt and a madras pair of shorts my choices were limited. There was a store in our downtown that carried some madras clothing but they always sold out. And needless to say-there was no internet to turn to. So I turned to the sewing machine. I made a simple dress-a bag-and another pair of shorts. Before wearing the dress and shorts I washed them. The material was a bleeding madras-meaning the dyes were not colorfast so the colors would fade the more they were washed. And that faded madras look was the look to have.

The popular kids had lots of madras and they strutted around in their madras like peacocks. Judging someone by what they wear or do not wear hasn't gone away. While styles and fabrics change-the strutting continues. The only difference now is I'm not impressed. I don't care-although my heart does skip a beat when I see something madras-anything madras.