No matter what is said, there is no – and I mean NO – way to put coveralls on gracefully. Please understand, coveralls are a necessity on the farm especially when it’s 12 degrees outside. Oh, they make cute coverall for the skinny farmer but that’s not what lives here. Now, if you think a killer whale lunging out of the water and beaching itself is graceful in some way, perhaps you could imagine that a lunatic homesteading aging woman is graceful when she steps daintily into her Oklahoma red mud colored overalls. Imagine that she is balanced perfectly like a ballerina and the coveralls come swirling around her like snow. The dance is careful but smooth. A stretched out arm is luxuriously draped with multi-layered quilted stiffness. The shoulders are shrugged and wiggled to coax the material to it’s preferred resting place. And, suddenly, there it is… the thing that looks like a cross between the Michelin tire man and Sasquatch-ina covered in red-brown sauce… ME!