The wonderful thing about the male sex or male gender identification or however you say being a man who puts his penis in things in 2015, is that we all seem to be built on a familiar template. Red meat, sports, not talking about feelings. These are all things that men universally seem to enjoy and I think that some of those things that all men love demand an explanation so that women can understand just how shallow, immature, and stupid we generally all are while explaining those shortcomings eloquently and succinctly. Well, at least why I am the way I am.
So, without further ado, let’s delve in to every man’s favorite wardrobe member in a woman’s closet; the sundress.
There may be a smattering of dissent here in favor of the LBD (Little Black Dress) but overall I believe the sundress is that item of a woman’s fashion collection that gets our hearts in our throats more often than not. I don’t think there is another article of clothing out there that embodies the ethos of lady in the streets, freak in the sheets more than the sundress. Throw in its inextricable link to warm weather and the outdoors and its basically one of Cupid’s arrows in garment form.
The key difference, in my mind, between the LBD and the sundress is in the fit. When a dress loses that loose, airy fit it no longer becomes a sundress but a cocktail dress which is a totally different ball game. Once the curves start getting hugged that illusion of wholesomeness is driven from our mind and the more animal, lustful side gets excited. That’s the power of the LBD. Women knows it puts men’s frame of mind in a particular place and that place just so happens to be when women have the most power over men, when they are desired sexually by them.
Well to be fair the sexual desire is only half of when a woman actually has the most power over a man. The total power only comes when that desire and friendship join hand in hand. I feel that all women have the ability to get a dick hard if need be and that the feat is overrated and so I find the LBD to be overrated. It cuts right to the chase. The sundress is much more subtle. It has the benefit of being beautiful and revealing in its own way while still maintaining this aura of wholesomeness because its not tight. Because its not worn in nightclubs or indoors generally. The sundress is just that perfect merger of seduction and reservation that drive men wild. That tinge of mystery, that wonder of what’s deeper? Underneath? It embodies the drive of wanting to get to know you and that is how actual, real desire is born.
Now while its all well and good to wax poetic on the hidden meanings of some fabrics stitched together that’s not why we are here. We are here to talk about the origin of this infatuation with our sunny subject. All of us have this story if we think about it but those are to each his own. For now, I’ll talk about the only one I’m qualified to discuss; mine.
Its 1994 and I’m in 2nd Grade. Mrs. McGonagle is my teacher and she’s old but she’s nice enough. I like school. I like playing with friends at recess and reading. I’m wearing some color of Russell Athletic sweatpants. I’m not real sure which, I think they are black but they could be dark blue. I know I’m wearing my Starter Brett Favre jersey, my favorite. I’m usually wearing some combination of sweatpants and football jerseys. I like football. Its football season, sometime in October I think. Today is Monday so I know there is a game on tonight I’m going to watch with my Dad.
These are all the things I’m thinking as I sit at my desk. School is about to begin and I’m wondering what we are going to learn about today. Suddenly, a woman walks in. She’s not Mrs. McGonagle. I look around confused then look at the clock. I can sort of read it now. The fat hand is near 8. Where is Mrs. McGonagle? Are we having school tod…..
The woman has turned around.
She’s not as old as Mrs. McGonagle. In fact, she’s much younger. Her skin is smooth and her teeth are very white as she glances up for a moment and flashes the class a smile. She has really dark hair. Black. Just like mine. Her’s is in a ponytail though. Just like a lot of the girls in my class but her’s looks…better. It’s shinier and it doesn’t look like a hair is out of place. Her eyes are a soft brown with almost a golden hue to them. I’m in the second row so I can see. I find myself jealous I’m not sitting in the front row which is weird because usually I’m jealous I’m not further back.
She’s put down her bag. You know, the one all ladies carry around with them. Its got a ton of papers in it. For a moment I’m sad because I think its school work and it may be hard but as I look at the new teacher, I guess she’s new, I don’t think I’d mind her handing it out. She takes some stacks out and then takes her jacket off. Her shoulders are bare. She’s wearing a dress. It looks loose and airy. Its black and white, almost with spots but they may be diamonds. It kind of minds me of Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmations. I like that movie. The thought makes me smile to myself at my desk. A little giggle escapes me as I remember the fat puppy. As I look up, the woman is looking at me and smiling.
I freeze. I could feel my smile fall away as a burning sensation rushed up to my cheeks. The woman’s smile only deepened and I felt my cheeks burn again with renewed energy. She cleared her throat.
“Attention class. My name is Ms. Weatherspoon and I am going to be your substitute teacher for the next two weeks”. As if by magic her name is written on chalk on the board. I don’t remember seeing her do that.
“Mrs. McGonagle will be out but”, she continued, “she’s shared her lesson plan with me so we won’t miss anything”. Her voice was beautiful. It was kind and sounded like she could sing very nicely. I wondered if she could sing like Belle. “But before we get to schoolwork I’d like for us to get to know each other so let’s do attendance. When I call your name please say ‘here’ so I can put a name to your faces”. She spoke with a smile the entire time, looking about the room at us.
She, Ms. Weatherspoon moved to the front of the desk with a piece of paper in her hand. It must’ve been our names and where we were sitting as she was glancing down at it then calling out names up and down the rows from the far side of the room where the windows were towards the door near where I sat. She almost got everyone’s right on the first try. That wasn’t easy! I knew she wouldn’t get mine. Too many vowels. Mrs. McGonagle still messed it up now and again and she’d been my teacher every day. I felt sad about that, but I didn’t know why.
“Tyler…Pol-“, she paused just where everyone did, “imeno?”
She had gotten it right. I couldn’t help it. I beamed at her and said “HERE!” probably too loud but I didn’t care. She laughed and said “Well, thank you!” and proceeded but I was transfixed. I found myself staring. I know mom says not to stare but I didn’t care about that either. Ms. Weatherspoon was leaning back, sitting on the front of the teacher’s desk. Her legs were cross at the ankles as the skirt of her dress fanned out about her legs. The skirt had a much more intricate black and white patter that became more simple as it reached to the top. She was beautiful. I had heard the word used before. I know Dad called Mom beautiful and Grammy and Nanny called me beautiful but it was just a word. A sound. Now it had a picture. Now it had meaning.
I loved those two weeks of school. I loved having Ms. Weatherspoon as a teacher. She was nice. She helped you if you needed help. She always let us ask questions. She giggled and smiled almost as much as we did. I still remember showing off during multiplication tables, particularly when it came to the 7s. I figured out a trick. You just had to think of them as touchdowns. Once you figured that out, it was easy to remember them because football did the 7s table for you. Ms. Weatherspoon asked me one day how I knew the 7s so well. I couldn’t contain myself. I revealed my pigskin practice. She smiled that smile at me, her smile and said “Tyler! That is very clever and you are a very smart boy!”. I don’t think I stopped smiling for the rest of the day.
It’s Monday and I can’t wait to go to school. The Patriots lost yesterday but I’m ok with it. I’m wearing my Drew Bledsoe Starter jersey and ready to learn from Ms. Weatherspoon. I’m in my seat waiting for the day to start. I hope we do multiplication again. Maybe today we’ll do some Geography. I like Geography and I’m good at it. I like doing things I’m good at when Ms. Weathespoon can see it. I wonder if we’ll be playing Off The Wall at rece…..
In walks Mrs. McGonagle.
I never saw Ms. Weatherspoon again. Of course I knew that was going to be the case when she said she was the substitute teacher. That’s what a substitute was. I knew that. Still, it barely felt like a minute had passed and two weeks had gone by. Ms. Weatherspoon was gone and Mrs. McGonagle was back. I wasn’t upset. I didn’t understand what had just happened to me. But I do remember being sad. Being disappointed. I didn’t want to hurt Mrs. McGonagle’s feelings and knew she was my teacher so I smiled and sounded excited when she came back. Thoughts move fast when you are young and I let myself get absorbed by schoolwork and the way things use to be and were now again.
Deep down though? I was in the past. Two weeks ago. In a Brett Favre jersey and sweatpants. Thinking about red lips I didn’t know I wanted to kiss and a black and white sundress that I’d always remember worn by the first woman I’ve ever loved.
That’s why I like the sundress.