The other weekend I pulled this dress off the rack at Anthropologie and hit the dressing room. It wasn’t until I stepped into it that I realized it had a crotch.
What the heck was this? Shorts?
I put it on anyway and stood in front of the mirror. Could I get away wearing this as a dress? Would anyone know I was rocking a romper?
When the word “romper” hit my grey matter, I took the thing off immediately.
I briefly wore rompers in third grade. I don’t remember where they came from; I think some were hand-me-downs from my cousin, and others were purchased at consignment stores. Most of them were made out of terry cloth, which didn’t feel especially soft or cool during the hot summer months.
On one especially hot weekend toward the end of the school year, I came down with the worst stomach flu I’ve had to date.
It happened on a Friday morning after lunch and I remember having a hard time getting the pass from my substitute teacher (her name was Ms. Crab, honestly) to go to the nurse, where I barfed my entire lunch into her toilet until some delinquent fourth grader pulled the fire alarm, and I was forced outside with my face in the gutter for the entire K-12 school to see. (In a strange twist, this kid would go on to commit arson which torched our entire gymnasium in 1993.)
My mom eventually came to get me and much to her horror and my disgust, I threw up while lying in the backseat on the way home.
The next morning, I remember feeling queasy, but better. So I ran Saturday errands with my mom, which included going to the greenhouse to get flowers for the front flower bed.
It was hot. And I was wearing a terry cloth romper. We had barely pulled out of the parking lot when I started to feel sick. My mom told me to put my head between my knees and take a deep breath while she sped me home. Things got borderline apocalyptic from there, and we both learned the hard way that one does not want to be trapped in a one-piece article of clothing when one loses control of one’s functions. How humiliating.
And now these rompers are everywhere*, making me feel like one big bag of hot stomach virus. Blech. Moreover, don’t they look better on little kids? I haven’t seen one body-flattering romper on a gal yet.
What say you?
Next time, maybe we’ll talk about the confounding trend in harem pants—which always remind me of Hammer Time, or wearing a heavy pair of Depends under stretch pants. Unless you’re Gwen Stefani,which most of us are not.
*If I had to wear a romper, it would be over a swimming suit, and it would be this one. But I refuse to pay $124 for something that used to cost less than $20.