STRANGER THAN FICTION: AH, THE DAYS OF PRAIRIE SKIRTS AND LAYERED POLOS

When exactly did underwear become outerwear?

They were abundant in the mall Saturday night.

Adolescent girls with shopping bags, whispering and giggling and practically running from store to store.

But something was different about them compared to giggling adolescent girls from generations past. These were wearing short shorts.

Their skimpy tank tops barely covered what little endowment they had so far. The shopping bags were from a certain lingerie shop that will remain "secret" -- hint, hint. And there were no parents to be seen.

Not to be a nerd, or whatever kids call out-of-touch adults nowadays, but it was weird to see 12-year-old girls looking like third-time divorcees. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if they ever met up with the boys I'd been seeing around -- the ones wearing pants hanging around the tops of their behinds, basketball jerseys and greasy hair hanging in their eyes.

The one girl I saw with her parents was giving her mom the old look that said "MU-ther! Do you think I'm a mere CHILD?" She'd probably just asked to get her belly button pierced and was stunned to get a negative response.

I don't know what was up with those girls' parents, probably because I'm not one. But why do they want their young daughters wearing clothes that accent all the places where other people's young sons like to look?

Maybe I don't understand because I wasn't exactly a fashion plate as a young teen.

That was back in the era of oxford shirts with ribbons tied at the neck, long prairie skirts and later those "Flashdance" leg warmers worn on the outside of blue jeans. Then there were the Polo shirts with the collars turned up, worn in twos so that the collars would be multi-colored. And acid-washed jeans, so tight that you couldn't even get your hand into a pockets for your lunch money.

Of course, my mother let me leave the house wearing anything regardless of fashion, as long as it was modest. She figured I'd naturally learn the concept of junior-high chic.

So in ninth grade, when I chose to wear a big white beach cover-up that looked like a lab coat over my clothes every day for two months and kids kept yelling, "Paging Dr. Nieland. Dr. Nieland to the front desk, please," my mother never told me to take that crap off, for heaven's sake.

And in sixth grade, when I didn't know to brush out the curling iron curls and everyone kept calling me "Tootsie Roll," she never handed me a pick and told me to do something about it.

But when I was high school and visited a major discount department store and tried on some shorts that were too tight, she said something.

"But don't I look sexy in these?" I argued.

"I don't know," she said. "Do sausages sticking out of their casings look sexy?"

She was right, of course.

The first thing I ever did when I got out on my own was buy a mini skirt. Come to find out, she was right about that, too. The most embarrassing part was when I realized the control-top part of my pantyhose was showing beneath the hem of the skirt. Here's that fashion statement: "I'm kind of loose, and I'm not real smart."

As an adult, I've moved into a style that fits both my increased size and my job as a journalist. It's called Versatile Bag. Most of it's bag shaped, and all of it can go from a forest fire to a city council meeting, depending on the shoes and accessories.

Of course, the more shapely women around me are dressing differently nowadays. Take the tank tops with the thin straps that show your bra. I thought the point of bras was to be UNDERNEATH the clothing. That's why you can find one with a good fit and wear it until the elastic's gone and the fabric has turned from white to gray.

But then, Vogue isn't exactly beating down my door for advice, either.

Of course, when prairie skirts and oxfords with ribbons come back, I'll be the envy of teens and parents alike.

~Heidi Nieland is a former Southeast Missourian staff member who lives in Pensacola, Fla.