the length of my skirts

Many, many, many moons ago, when I was about 14 or 15, my Catholic high school had a dress down day, where you could pay $1 for a good cause and in return wear an outfit other than the school uniform.  On the appointed day, I tarted myself up in a pair of black tights, puffy royal blue sweatshirt with black squiggles, low black heels, and a short, tight, black spandex skirt that could have doubled as a tube top. (This was about 1990, you know. That outfit was hot then.)  I sauntered downstairs in my sexiness.

"Absolutely not," my mother said. "You look like a prostitute."

I could not have been that prostitute-y, since my upper half was swathed in a puffy sweatshirt, but the lower half....well.  I ran into the living room and confronted my father.  "Do you like this outfit?"

"That outfit looks fine.....(short pause)....on someone else's daughter."

I whirled around to see my mother standing behind me, making a slashing motion at her neck.  Nice save, Daddy.

These days, I could be mistaken for Laura Ingalls. My knees rarely see daylight.  I like shirts that come to the elbow.  I wear a camisole under v-neck shirts. My wrists and ankles still see daylight, but that's about it.  

Today I am wearing gauchos.  For the love of Pete, would someone bring back the gauchos.  Mine are getting ratty and I can't find any in stores to replace them.  T-shirt material, below the knees, soft, comfy, non-restricting, what's not to love:

My dresses generally hover an inch or two below the knee:

But yesterday, in a fit of madness, I bought a short skirt.

Why yes, those are my knees.

Its a weird feeling.  Knees are not covered! The skirt is a swishy, flirty little number! Everything feels the breeze!

I think its going back to the store.