Purple Tights and Pixie Cuts

I mentioned a few days ago that I had a funny story that I was a little hesitant to share . . . this is part of that story. There is a second, semi-outrageous part that could potentially be offensive to the person involved, so I'm leaving it out for now. Sorry. But I hope this first part was worth the wait.

My husband is a student at Palmer College of Chiropractic, just a few weeks away from graduating. I feel so lucky to have made friends with a wonderful group of girls whose husbands attend Palmer as well and are all at various points in the program. One of the traditions among these girls is to throw a graduation/goodbye party for the wives of graduating students, and I'll admit, I attended two of them when I first got here and then never went again because it gets a little emotional for my taste.

Here's what happens: we all socialize and have a fun time, and then we sit in a circle and everyone tells the girls who are leaving how much they love them, all their happy memories, how much they'll miss them, etc. It really is a lovely gesture and I think it's wonderful to let people know how much they've affected your life for the better, but it tends to get a little . . . cheesy. Everybody ends up crying and hugging and baring their souls, and I must have a total heart of stone, because I'm the only one who never sheds a tear and sits there like an awkward lump while everyone else has a transcendent emotional experience. (Can you tell I grew up with 3 older brothers? Not so good at the girly talking thing.)

Anyway, a few weekends ago was the goodbye party for me and the one other girl in the group who is leaving . . . I'll protect her innocence and call her Susan. I prepped myself for some incredibly kindhearted but nonetheless uncomfortable praise, and headed out to the party. The go-around-the-circle-kumbaya began:

Person 1: "Rachel, the thing I'll remember most about you is . . . your hair. It's so cute, and I thought it was really brave of you to cut it so short. And you always dress cute at church on Sundays. And Susan, (begin to cry) you are such an example of charitable service and motherhood and femininity. (Blow nose in a tissue.) And I like Rachel's hair."

Person 2: "I remember the first time I met Rachel . . . and she was wearing the cutest shoes. I always try and think of her when I go shopping so I can dress like her. Susan, (start bawling), when we moved in, you were my first friend, and you brought me dinner every day for a year after my baby was born, and you rebuilt my house from the ground up with your bare hands after a tornado blew it away and I'll never forget you."

Person 3: "Rachel has these purple tights that I really love. And the first time she wore them, it really made me feel good about myself because I have purple tights, too. And Susan (here come the tears) wove me a blanket from her own hair to wrap my baby in, and she is the perfect vision of saintly wisdom and ladylike virtue."

It's flattering to know that I am apparently such a style icon (wouldn't be hard to do in Davenport, Iowa, but believe me, I'm definitely not as stylish as they all seem to think . . . they're just very, very nice people), but it was rather odd to hear it juxtaposed with Susan's near-saintliness. My greatest accomplishment, it would seem, is cutting off 12+ inches of hair in a desperate attempt to look less like a mangy street urchin.

I'm leaving a legacy of purple tights and pixie cuts. My work here is done.