Shoulder Pads & the Damn Fool by Kellie Morin


In order to fully appreciate this installment, you must first have a better understanding of my mother as a person. She is by far the classiest woman I know. Always dressed to the nines, perfectly accessorized and coiffed, soft spoken, reserved. In a word? She’s cool. Always cool. Well…almost always…

Now, possessing this level of coolness is certainly a nice thing. However, when these people DO make fools of themselves, they usually do so with some pretty serious magnitude. To that end, I bring you the story of The Shoulder Pads and the Damn Fool (with her permission of course).

Well as I mentioned, the vision of Sandra Marie is usually one of meticulous perfection. I’m never quite sure how she manages to pull it off each and every single day of her existence. Truthfully, I’ve long been convinced that she secretly has a staff of 12 housed in an annex off her bedroom. Each morning as she steps from the bath, birds singing in the background, they all leap forward waving blush brushes, hair dryers and lip liner. I picture her garbed in the oversized white terry robe draped in the reclining chair as they swoop down in a frenzy of buffing, shadowing, highlighting, and contouring, tending to her as though she’s Farrah on the set of Chuck’s Angels. Then she steps forward in full make up and perfectly arranged hair and sashays over to a closet the size of Copley Square. She presses a button and miles of perfectly coordinated outfits, all in the appropriate colors as she has of course been draped and knows she’s an Autumn, go sailing past her until she picks that day’s lucky winner. Are you getting my point? Mom’s got it going on.

So anyway, one of her little idiosyncrasies involves an affinity for shoulder pad usage. And even though they’re entirely out of style and have been for several years…she still manages to pull it off...with flying colors I might add. Mom’s a little slight of shoulder, so in order to properly present the hourglass illusion…the shoulder pads are a necessary evil. Occasionally an outfit comes along that demands a double set. In this instance, she simply “piggy backs” 2 sets of shoulder pads on top of each other. They’re velcroed to each other and then neatly tucked, or sometimes even pinned, under the bra strap.

Well on this particular day, she’s employed the double and has just entered the office of her physical therapist. They hand her the little nightie (which I’m sure is olive green or rust because white is “not in her pallet” and simply won’t do) and she proceeds to get down to just under garments. This, of course, is quite a procedure. Being that she is the crowned “Layer Queen,” there are at least 8 layers to shed…and let’s not forget the vast array of accessories. Then each item must be neatly folded and placed in a pile in descending order by size, creating a perfect pyramid. Now you might ask yourself, why would she dress this elaborately to go to the physical therapist? Well folks, we’re talking about a woman who wears make up when she cleans the house.

As she waits for the physical therapist to come back in, she, with a keen sense of awareness previously only found in the likes of The Princess and the Pea, becomes acutely aware of the fact that the pile is somehow incomplete. She’s positive she wore 2 sets of shoulder pads today, but there atop the pile of clothing…is only one set. The beige ones are present, the dark green one have gone AWOL. So now she begins scouring the room for them. Goes through the pile 12 or 13 times. Nope. Definitely not there. Checks the bra she’s still wearing 6 or 7 times. But no. They’re gone. She asks herself, “am I losing it? Is it possible I only wore one set? No, not with THIS outfit! I would NEVER have done such a thing as under-pad! Any fool can see this outfit demands 2 sets!”

Right about this time, Rhonda, the PT, comes back in. My mother informs her of the phenomenon that has occurred. Rhonda begins to assist in the search for the errant shoulder pads. My mother leans over to check under the chair and suddenly hears Rhonda say, “Um Sandy…I think I found them.” Where were they? That’s right, velcroed to her butt. Dark green shoulder pads stuck to each other and then stuck to the beige briefs. She sat on them.

She of course calls me at work to tell me this story and just about kills me. I foolishly attempt to utilize the “cube chortle,” but of course it comes out as an extended howl complete with wheezing and tears. This type of occurrence is as rare as they come, so my enjoyment is thorough. She kills me.

Previous Articles

Cast of Characters
The Wisdom Tooth Incident

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About the Author;
Kellie Morin is a professional freelance writer from central Massachusetts who loves her family and life. You'll enjoy her heartfelt style. Kellie can be reached at Kellie@boomerjournals.com