Give Your Dress The Slip

I call this dress the “trick-or-treat dress” because in order to wear it I had to really pull out some serious tricks.

What a steal for only $29.99 at H&M and, of course, only one left on the rack.  I wasn’t sure if it was a top or a dress, but on my shrimpy body, a dress it would be!  Well, of course, I wore it to work the very next day in all its glory.

“Oh, hello sir.  Oh no, I’m not Mia Farrow circa 1969.  I know the resemblance is striking what with this dress and all.  Oh no, you don’t have to apologize.  Please.

Sir, please, you’re embarrassing me.  A ride to work?  I couldn’t.

But it’s across the 59^th St. Bridge?  Are you sure?  On your back?  Well okay, if you insist.”

Unfortunately, my dream of a free piggyback to work did not come true.  Instead, I waited for about twenty minutes for the E train to take me into Manhattan.

Listening to some tunes, I casually leaned against the pole for support.  My aching back was killing me from all the hours of sitting on the couch watching Lifetime Movie Network the night before.

I heard the rumble of the train through my headphones and stood at attention, but something was keeping me from leaving the Queens Boulevard station.

I felt stuck.

And that’s because I was.  To the pole.  In all my Mia Farro/Lifetime Movie fantasies I must have missed the paper sign above the pole that read “Wet Paint”.  The sleeve of my dress was sealed to the bright red paint on the steel pole.

I peeled myself off and got on the train.  A fancy lady looked at me:

“You didn’t see the sign?”

 “Oh, actually, yes, I saw it.  I decided to abandon warnings for the day.”

When I got to work in Times Square at the Paramount Building on 50^th Street, I had already come to a few conclusions about what to do with the red paint.

1. Paint over it.  A common workaround for me.  Whenever I have a spot or stain I can’t get out on my clothes, I simply get out my acrylic paints and paint over it.  Sometimes I try to match the color, and sometimes I just paint a new color.
2. Sew fabric over it.  A less common workaround for me, as this requires more effort and more skill.
3. Cut it.  Shorten the sleeves or make a tank dress.  This would be the easiest, but one of the reasons I loved the dress so much was the length of the sleeves and the detailing on the cuffs.  So I was hesitant.

As I walked into my office building, I was back to feeling like Mia Farrow.  I liked a splash of color on my dress, and now I kinda had an excuse as to why I was twenty minutes late for my staff meeting.

I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around to see yet another strange woman.

“I know, I know, I leaned against the wet paint pole in the subway.”

“No, um….I was just going to tell you I can see your underwear through your dress.”

“Oh brother.”

“They have hearts or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Just thought you would want to know.”

Geez Louise, can’t a girl get a break?  I was between a pole and a heart place at this point.  I had to go directly to my staff meeting.  My bag of backup clothes under my desk was filled with sequined tops, wigs and gold shoes, and the only extra underwear was, of course, also emblazoned with hearts.  What to do…what to do…If only I had listened to my mother and worn a slip!  All those millions of times she had begged my sister Linda and me to wear a slip, and every single time we had said no.  Now twenty years later, I raised my fist to the air and screamed in the elevator:  WHY??

Well, I know why.  My mom would try to get us to wear a slip with everything, and I mean everything.  Cotton, polyester, flannel, poof skirts, uniforms, Halloween costumes, nightgowns.  It seemed like her answer to everything was “Well, did you put a slip on?”

But the thing was, we had two options for a slip.  One of her own “full slips”, which were a one-piece dress made in 1962 and only fit her teeny tiny size 2 frame.  Or our own white slip made of the finest, scratchiest rayon money could buy, which I might add came off our doll.  A talking, life-sized doll Linda got one Christmas named Cricket that if memory serves me correct, we never actually got all the batteries for so she never actually talked.  She just sat in the corner very stoically and stared at us.  Also she was taller than Lin, which was really weird.  But she did have a slip that we peeled off and wore.  Or didn’t wear, actually.  This was a slip we shared and yes, I still have it, and it is my only slip.

Cricket was creepy by day …


…and contrary to what the box said, her eyes never closed.

Neither of these slips functioned as a slip – to protect you from the outside seeing your inside- because both were see through.  Also my mother’s slip was incredibly long and always hung way below the dress or skirt and required many pins or “tucking into underwear” so that it would look okay.

When I would squeeze into Cricket’s slip, the damn thing would be so tight and uncomfortable that on first stride it would immediately roll up to a nice bulky white fabric belt, just at your wait, right under your skirt or dress.  A nice additional layer of padding right where you want it most:  at your midsection.

I’d spend the rest of the day trying to hike down the slip like a sausage casing over my legs.  It would seal them up together like a saran wrap and create a centrifugal heat force that would produce a rash doctors would never be able to diagnose, the scars still fresh today.  (emotional, of course.)

As we got older, or resistance to the slip became so intense that an outright rebellion was born.

Even as my mom and Lin and I were shopping for Lin’s wedding stockings my mom said, “Here’s a nice slip.”

“I’m not wearing a slip.”

“Lin, you have to wear a slip.  We can see through your wedding dress.”

“Mom, I’m getting invisible underwear.”

I had to agree with my mom on this one.  It was her wedding day after all.  On all the days to NOT see through your clothes, this was kind of the day.  I mean why fight it?  And we were in an actual store that SOLD new slips.

I had to tell her:

“Lin, you should get a slip.”

She gasped.  The horror!
This is Linda’s wedding dress.  It’s just slightly see-through.

The last thing you wanna be doing on your wedding day is making a run to Duane Reade for emergency tights like I had to do at work that day I wore my Mia Farrow dress with my heart underwear.

I never did paint over my Subway stain paint mark.  I really like it now.

And Cricket’s slip is still my only slip.  But for emergency use only.

You were right, mom.

For your own 1986 Cricket doll (and slip) you can go to ebay.  There are 8 for sale and range from $10-$200 bucks each, plus shipping and handling!

A real steal with descriptions from the sellers like:

“HUGE DOLL AND HEAVY”

“I put some batteries I had laying around the house in her and her mouth moved a little.”

“Hair could use some combing.”

“this doll originally moved her mouth and eyes, but the mechanism must no longer work.”

“Her cute eyes move side to side and her mouth also moves along with her tape….that will not come with her.”

“She has a cassette tape player built into the back of her body, which works but only plays at a low volume”

“you hear some static when moving the volume control.”

Other posts I think you will like:

Fashion Advice From Mr. Burns

Wanna Pee Your Pants?

When is it Appropriate to Wear a TuTu? 

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