preppie

preppie
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My husband and I check out the new Marshalls.  It’s obscene, the buys I find.  Not so much for me as the kids.

I grew up with preppie parents.  Loafers and argyle, polo ponies and buttondowns.  I knew what khakis were when I was four.  My dad pronounces it Kar-keys, though.

I fought the preppie when I was in my later years in high school.  Wore stove pipe pants and bowling shirts.

My dad worried that I was turning bad. 

I’m not a big labels person, mostly because I can’t afford The Row or Betsy Johnson or Marc Jacobs. 

But I’m so excited to bring home some US Polo for my daughter, some Izod for my son.  I rediscovered preppie years back.  It’s in my blood.  Can’t fight it.

I do find a giant bag for myself, made of woven material.

My daughter has yet to wear her polo pony dress.  I might have bought it with my eyes, not hers.

 

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