The teenager deep within me is reeling from the injustice.
WalMart is now selling Op. Can you believe it?
I grew up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland in a rinky-dink town not quite thirty minutes from the beach. I grew up in a loving family where dad provided and mom did neat things for me, like sewing some of my clothes. I even had a cute bikini wayyyyy back when I was 8 or 9 that mom made. Powder blue and white seersucker material. I loved it. The very last time I wore one.
I've digressed, of course. When I became a teenager, even in that rinky-dink town we had a fashion hierarchy. And anyone who was anyone wore Op.
I loved Op. Op T-shirts, Op shorts, Op bathing suits. And oh, how I envied the "other" kids who wore Op. But could I buy Op? Ha!
The one "boutique" store in town, Scher's, mocked me every time we drove by. The Op mecca taunted me with what I could not buy. One day, I had enough to buy an Op wallet. But who'd see a wallet of tan corduroy with brown trim? I just knew when I took it out of my purse to pay for something, everyone would know I couldn't afford the clothes.
Then finally, somehow, I saved up enough money to buy my own pair of Op shorts.
I still remember them. A cobalt blue corduroy, short-shorts (no, not too short or I'd never be let out of the house). They had front cargo pockets and the embroidered white "Op" logo on one of the pockets. And they were mine, on sale for less than twenty bucks.
I wore them until they wore out.
Fast forward over twenty-five years later, and here comes WAL MART selling Op. In my town back then, that would have been like Ames or KMart selling Op. It wouldn't have happened. So this is why WalMart selling Op is such a coup.
Sigh. Now I have the budget where I could buy myself Op. But the body I had back then is gone, or at least hidden. Sigh.
And I'm about five hours from the nearest REAL beach.
I console myself with the thought of: Corduroy at the beach being cool? What were we thinking??
