The Bomb

The first time I donned a bomber jacket, Handsome-then-boyfriend, looked at me, his heart jumping backflips, and said, "You look like a Rude Girl!"

"A rude what?" I asked, not knowing anything about Mod culture and lingo. In his early college days, Handsome used to wear skinny ties and an army-green parka, and he scooted around on a Vespa.

So when I spotted this Juicy Couture rendition of a bomber jacket, I had to get it. Heck, it was only seven bucks. And I desperately needed something for those chilly park days with the Caped Crusader. My pretty lady coats, all made pre-motherhood, were being stained to death by peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sliced apples.

At the store, I slipped the bomber jacket on and did a few twists and turns in front of the mirror. The coat was nice and heavy. One requirement met. It fit nicely. Another requirement met. But... Something wasn't quite right... Don't get me wrong, the jacket had potential. But it just wasn't quite me.

First of all, this bomber jacket looked like it had shunned its raucous friends and joined a sorority of cheerleaders. I mean, what was up with the hot pink label and heart sewn inside??? And the mega plastic buttons--they looked like they belonged to a cartoon character. And the outer flap was annoyingly in the way every time used the zipper. There was also the issue of two large holes on both sides of the jacket--it looked like the fabric had frayed apart at the seams.

But with all those problems, I still knew that the bomber jacket was mine. 

Let's see what I did...