4-H Modeling and the Wardrobe Malfunction

Sincerely 'fro me to you and Vintage Thingies Thursday!

Kristen over at We are THAT family has a blogging carnival going on Thursdays, and she asked for bloggers to share a story from our past, something that won't probably make it into a scrapbook because we can't find our crinkle-cut scizzors or some mouse peed on the pictures or whatever reason.

Apron Queen also has a carnival goin on called Vintage Thingies Thursday, I thought since I am so good at multi-tasking, I'd roll two posts into one and call this story both; an embarrassing story from my past as well as vintage. Now if you think that those bangs aren't vintage, and that, "Oh My! Would you look at that zipper!" I don't know what is!

So, this is my story...

Fall 1978, it was the beginning of my modeling “career.” It all began at the Western Idaho Fair, on the exhibitor’s building main stage, or rather behind the main stage. There I was waiting for an absolutely dreamy Junior Future Farmers of America member to escort me onstage to model, or rather, show off for my friends, I mean, the judges, my latest sewing creation.

Mom had purchased me the-niftiest-shoes-imaginable from the JC Penney Catalog. They had thick rubber soles with two slits going through the thickness from right to left, one under the arch and one under the ball of my foot. Through these slits you could insert white straps or brown straps and snap them into place with a heavy-duty snap. My choice for the day was white. In hindsight, and remembering now that it was after Labor Day, maybe if I had chosen the brown straps and not committed such an obvious fashion faux pas, the following story wouldn’t be an embarrassing part of my history.

Like I said, there I was waiting for that foxy Jr. FFA dreamboat to escort me up the steps and onto the stage for my turn. I rehearsed it all in my head, I was to cross the stage in a “w”, head to the front mark, pivot on my left foot, head to the back of the stage, left-foot pivot, back to the front, pivot and off to the stairs on the opposite side of the stage, where the dreamboat-in-waiting would escort me down the stairs. The judges sat with their tables even with the level of the stage so they could see every detail of our sewing and how we carried ourselves with all the poise and grace an 11-year old could muster in her pre-pubescent-awkward body.

My turn. Dreamy offered me his arm, and up the steps I trod, stopping to smile at the judges, went to the front mark, pivot, gracefully gliding to the back mark, pivot, back to the front, pivot-SNAP! The adorable-change-the-look-of-your-shoe-wardrobe strap came undone! Right in front of the judges, and only 10 strides away from Jr. FFA Dreamboat, who by this time in my mind had already asked me to the prom! Ugh! Major wardrobe malfunction! Gag me with a spoon, I was going to absolutely DIE right there! Mortified, I turned and step-slop, step-slopped my way to the stairs and took the arm of Mr. Dreamy himself, who now looked more like an embarrassed puppy dog.

My 11-year old world was shattered, spinning out of control all for what? A pair of shoes! Sandals that I had thought were the answer to too many shoes in the closet. HA! I know now the error of that kind of thinking; trust me! But I digress; I anxiously awaited the decision by the judges. I already knew that my sewing had brought me a gold ribbon, and I wanted another gold ribbon to go beside it. It was my best project ever; I had done it all by myself; topstitching and everything! But because of my vain love of a cute pair of sandals, it was all going down, I tell ya! Silver was the best I could do modeling, maybe even, (gasp, dare I say it?) BRONZE! No! Not that!

Time ticked slowly by while the rest of my friends modeled their creations, they had wisely chosen sturdy oxfords to wear with their outfits. Then we were to meet back in an hour for the results. Could I even live that long? Surely by now, Mr. Dreamy thought I was the clumsiest oaf in the whole state of Idaho.

We went back to the exhibitor’s building to return our outfits to be displayed for the remaining days of the fair, and there it was; hanging next to my first place gold ribbon for sewing; a beautiful rosette ribbon, a full four inches longer than its cousin, in GOLD! The judges had smiled on me. They had sympathized with my wardrobe malfunction; they were after all women; women who understood the importance of cute shoes.