Being a long-time admirer of petticoats, I suffered through the frustration of their disappearance in the late 50's like so many of the rest of us here. It makes me wonder why fashion designers don't bring back at least a hint of 'pouf', but so far, no luck. After all - it seems that at least one reason women dress the way they do is to look good to (in many instances) men. Whatever the marketing whims may be, real men love the sight of petticoats! Women respond to men's glances. They wear what men (or others in general) like to see. But for some reason, THIS particular style disappeared dramatically.
As suggested in other readings here, square dancing is just about the only place you see any real 'pouf' any more. It's standard attire, there. It's accepted. It's expected. But not really required. It took me an embarrassing number of years to figure out THAT's where you could still find petticoats. And not just under the more plain, street attire, but puffing up beautiful colorful dresses - some real works of art that sometimes are the impetus for competitive fashion shows at square dance events.
With great expectations of being able once again to be in the immediate company of these lucious ruffles, I entered the realm of square dancing. My partner and I went through the formalities of lessons, initiations, local and state-wide regular dances and special festivals - in general, joined the ranks of other square dancers, enjoying the festivities and various events. But one time in particular remains a special memory. This was not a big festival, nor anything special or fancy. It was a small-town local square dance - one of the regular every-other-saturday events. It was attended by the club regulars, with maybe a guest or two. Among the attendees was Nancy. Nancy was the 19 year-old daughter of the club caller. We had seen both of them regularly all through the sequence of lessons and on-going club activities. Nancy was a very enthusiastic, lively dancer - very much 'into' the dance. She was fun to watch. The enthusiasm was contageous - a good thing in this kind of environment. There's nothing that can deflate your enthusiasm at a square dance like a partner or square-member who puts on a dead-pan face, wears a straight, ankle-length skirt, and shuffles through the moves. This gal put some spark in the event, and you could tell she was having fun! Best of all, she liked to wear some of the fuller-style petticoats with her dance dresses, and always looked great. Now don't misinterpret things here. This gal was not the beginning of a love-triangle, or anything of a threat to my family structure. But I sure did visually enjoy it to the fullest extent possible. Among her specialties were the high-kicks and twirls. ...watch her for 5 minutes and one way or another, you'd see everything she had on, and from several different angles. She could twirl those skirts with the best of them, and her kicks were fabulous - not just little bunny-hops where the petticoats sorta bounce off the knee, but real groin stretchers - I mean she could kick the light bulbs out of the chandeliers! Beautiful!
One thing that tended to add to the beauty of all this was a certain element of anticipation. She would arrive at a dance event, commonly wearing a dress or skirt of choice, but with no petticoat. This would be the standard attire for her until a bit later, when the event actually started, and the festivities began - grand march, opening events, whatever. Then this limp, but pretty skirt would take on some real life. It must have gone from 20" across, to four feet! All with the addition of one beautiful crunchy, puffy petticoat. The anticipation of knowing I was about to see her high kicks and whirls was enough to justify the price of admission, even if nothing else happened. I didn't even mention that she wasn't the most attractive girl in attendance. Very nice, and definitely pretty, but not a real head turner. But of course, being dressed this way elevated her easily to a rating of 12 or so, on a 10-point scale!
And so it went. The dance ran it's course. Everybody had a good time. The event ended. But not quite ALL of it. The best part was yet to come, but I didn't know it yet.
It was common (and may still be) after a dance, to go out to some restaurant, and have something to kinda help un-wind from the excitement. Sometimes, at large state-wide festivals, it might be a huge meal, perhaps even catered at the event site. (Really bad idea, healthwise, but it tasted great.) More commonly, at the smaller local dances, such as this one, it just a whatever-ya-want kind of meal, or refreshments at the local "Sizzlin' Gristle". Such was the case on this particular evening. I happened to be one of the first to arrive at the location of choice this time, and having been appropriately warned in advance, the restaurant had arranged the tables end-to-end, in anticipation of the larger-than-normal group. Some others came in and began to seat themselves here and there around the tables. I staked out a likely looking chair, put myself in it and began to ponder a bent staple in the fold of the menu as others arrived and seated themselves. Somewhere in the ensuing confusion or random arrivals, Nancy came in. Due to the seating choices of those already present, she elected to sit in the chair just to my left, which put her next to another girl-friend, on Nancy's left. (I.e., she did not specifically make any effort to sit by ME. She chose to sit by her friend, and I was conveniently sitting one chair to Nancy's right.) Nancy also had a frequent disappointing habit of removing her petticoat when attending these after-dance events, but this time she didn't. She bounced in there with this four-foot spread, and as she approached the chair, I could tell she was trying to plan how she was going to compress this huge puff-ball so as to fit in-between two people already seated, and get it all under the table. She did it in a pretty smooth move, which could only have come from experience. Somehow, she delicately mashed the thing into submission in a very sophisticated, lady-like way, and got herself situated appropriately in the chair. Then she let it lose. As her hands came back to the top of the table, that petticoat just sorta exploded all over the available space, under the table, as it expanded from the constraint of manipulating it to fit under the table. What I would have given to be a mouse on the floor, under the chair across from her! But I got even a better surprise. Some minutes prior to her seating herself, I had place both hands in my lap, perhaps on my thighs, I don't remember the exact arrangement, but my hands were under the table when this petticoat was freed from her grip. Purely coincidentally (and you're sayin' "Yeah, right!!" Right?) ...well it WAS purely coincident - I had no way to anticipate this. I was in the process of pulling my hands out from under the table when this massive puff-ball exploded, and I realized I had half of this girls petticoat all over my lap, with one hand a good ways way up her skirt! Totally unknown to her, of course - she was enthusiastically engaged in some conversation with her friend, and really had no way to know what had happened. Now this hand wasn't suddenly thrust into some socially forbidden territory by any means, but let face it - this is not something I would arrange to do intentionally in full view of anyone. When I realized what had happened, I immediately cancelled the mental command to remove the rest of my arm and hand from my lap, and decided to just let that hand enjoy her petticoat. I gently rubbed and massaged this multi-layered masterpiece for the entire time we sat there - close to a hour. She never knew anything about it. I savored every little nylon square I could come in contact with. I coudn't taste any food at all! I don't remember eating. My entire mental facilities were directed toward secretly navigating this world of chiffon and netting that was all over my lap. My mother would have been proud - it's the first time in several decades that I've eaten an entire meal with my left hand in my lap the whole time! As the event finally came to a close, Nancy withdrew this lovely netscape from my presence, and we all went home.

It's been almost 12 years since that happened, but I remember it like was last night. I don't remember, but I probably intended not to wash that hand for a week. Probably forgot and washed it anyway. But it didn't take away the memory of an hour spent with one hand in paradise.