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The Art of Skirt Rolling


One of the good things about going to an all girls’ Catholic school was uniforms.  You didn’t have to worry about the latest fads in Glamour magazine or what the girls would say if you wore non-designer clothes.  Trust me, none of our clothes were designer in nature! When I first started high school, our uniforms were drab blue, drab blue skirts, drab blue, fitted vests, and not great on me, I might add, when I had a barrel shape and no apparent bust line to fill the tailored stitching which built a space for boobs! Well, in addition to all the drab blue, the emblem of St. Mary’s High School was tattooed directly over the bustiest part of the vest. Makes my non-boobs even more pronounced.  The crude looking, drab blue “beanie” replete with the school’s emblem was tacked to the back of our heads, by two large black bobby pins, you know, the rippling kind with the rubberized tips.  We always made sure the beanie was snuggled into the teased hair as far away from our sight as possible. No chance to see that ugly thing from the front!  Its only purpose was to satisfy the requirements of covering the head for church.

 In addition to the basic uniform, we were required to wear navy blue knee socks that were continually falling down and in a desperate effort to keep them from being swallowed into our black and white oxford saddle shoes, we would place elastics (rubber bands to non-New Englanders) around the tops of our knee socks, and eventually they would cut off our circulation. I remember carrying a handful of rubber bands around with me for the inevitable break and then the inevitable drooping of my knee socks. One up, one down is the way I remember always dealing with those pesky knee socks. It was almost like a one two dance that we all did. Socks creep down, pulled up, and on, and on, and on!
Now, the oxford saddle shoes were another matter! I polished those ugly shoes all the time, but they were so inherently ugly they never seemed to look any better. You could have used them as a door stop they were so heavy! And since I only had one pair of shoes, I was constantly wearing them thus wearing down the outer part of the heel, since the shoes were made of some rubbery material on the bottom that never seemed to wear evenly. 
And the rest of the regalia!  I remember wearing those little bow ties which categorized us into proper grade levels. Red, and everyone knew you were a freshman; Green, a sophomore, and so on! We sat in church that way too. Red bow ties at the back of the church, considered the lowliest of the low! The blouses were white, starched, and long sleeved. That didn’t give me any trouble except when the weather was really warm, and then the sweat marks under my arms stood out like orbs from space.  I rolled up my sleeves on the way home from school, but truth be known, I looked around every corner to make sure I would not get reported to Sister or there would be consequences to bear. It didn’t seem to matter that we were out of school range. We were  representing our school, and no self-respecting girl would bring shame to her school!  At least that was what they told us.
Well, just when I got the uniform thing down pat, sophomore year, our world was rocked! We took on a new school name, now St. Mary’s Academy, instead of St. Mary’s High School.  That meant a new and more sophisticated uniform. No more drab blue from head to toe! Still blue, mind you, but with an edge. The skirts were now blue and green pleated plaid. Just what I needed since I was no light weight and pleats seemed to widen my derriere!  Just at the tender age of thirteen when I was in no mood to enhance my moon shaped behind, along came the pleated skirt and I looked like a Whoppie pie!  The skirt was pure wool, warm in winter AND summer. Wool also didn’t hold the pleats well, so some the pleats in the front hung crisp and straight, but by the time the pleats wound around the back, they were helter-skelter all over the place. There went the neat and tidy skirt. I only was able to afford one uniform as the price was twice what the drab blue light weight uniforms were, so my mom literally hung the skirt on the clothesline once a week to “air” out.  I had it dry cleaned as often as I could, which translated, meant three times a year, and once for the glee club recital in May. 
Well, as you can imagine, every classy uniform skirt demanded a jacket to match. Ours was, you guessed it, a navy blue, with the brand new St. Mary’s Academy insignia on the jacket pocket, in gold. I must admit, I kind of liked it more than the fitted vest which made me look like a stuffed sausage.  It was loose and gave me room to move. We still had the beanie caps, no change, and the long sleeved shirts which made me sweat sooner in the day and more profusely. And we still had our identification bow ties. Yea!

I hoped this was the only change in uniforms.  It was, as it turned out… for the next 40 years! However, the good Catholic girls were outraged that the skirts MUST be worn so that they covered the knee.  As soon as the girls were out of sight of the school, off came the bow ties and jackets, up rolled the sleeves at least two turns up past the elbows, and up rolled the skirts, rolled over the waist band, twirled furiously over and over until you could practically see some of the good Catholic girls’ underwear.  It was a furious race- off between the good Catholic girls of St. Mary’s Academy and St. Anne’s High School, vying for the attention of the precious few boys at Central Catholic—so we rolled and rolled and rolled. It left marks on the skirts, indentations that had to be ironed out nightly by some daring individuals!  I must confess, I did roll the skirt at least two to three times so the skirt was soundly above my knees.  It felt better, and besides, the Central Catholic boys’ just around the corner were usually waiting for their girlfriends and in general for a good show. That, we gave them! It was hard, though, to act sexy when you were carting around about 30 pounds of books in a drab green cloth book bags that either hung over your shoulder if you were a dork, or which were carried in your arms with the book bag strap neatly folded over, if you were anyone else!
Well, you guessed it! The Nuns caught onto our little shame! In fact, they caught us red handed at the game, delivering a mighty blow that sent us spiraling. Detention for the first offense, caught in the act.  At first they stood in the classroom doorway and one by one, we would have to show them our waistband. Well, of course, the girls would unroll the skirts beforehand, to comply, and at first that was good enough. Soon, the good Sisters counted the wrinkles made by the rolled up skirts as a guilty and doled out punishment after punishment.  Even if you hadn’t rolled your skirt, if the indentations were there from another time then you were as good as guilty.  So, ironing became a nightly ritual to steam away our sins.
Just when we felt confident we could wield an iron and eviscerate those wrinkles, the Nuns came out with an additional plan. We began our day with daily prayers.  We said the Pledge of Allegiance first, and then we knelt on our chairs in homeroom and faced the crucifix for our daily prayers. That’s when we were nabbed, like sitting, or kneeling, ducks! The Nuns would slowly slither up and down the rows, making sure the hems of the skirts soundly touched the chairs at the kneeling position. Clever things! When the hems failed to drape the chair, there was instant retribution! Stand beside the desk. Open the navy blue blaze. Reveal the waistband of the uniform. Then if all were well, back to the prayers. Once, a student was found to have actually had her mother hem the skirt so that it was above the knee. That was grounds for expulsion…. The Nuns did not take kindly to girls who defiantly broke the sacred uniform skirt rolling rules.  But the temptation to roll the skirt while walking by the Catholic boy’s high school always won out in the end. There were two all girls’ schools within a two block radius and only one selective boys’ school! What’s a girl to do? margaretmdesjardins@blogspot.com
 
 


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