When I went there in June to buy me some new underdrawers and a silky slip, the nice ample lady behind the counter in Dillard's lingerie department was speaking frankly with another amply lady about changing bra sizes, "Seems in the summer I'm a 42D but when winter comes, I'm a 46D. So I keep two sets of bras." And this caused me to glance down at myself and I felt pale and without any sort of heft at all in comparison to these sweet brown women. And then they touched on the subject of laundry detergent and I learned that Woolite was no thing at all to mix with water and silky underthings, that it works like acid and eats holes in everything, "Woolite is for Wool!" they said and so when I was ready to pay for my little handful of nylon and silk that must have seemed like a little pile of handkerchiefs to them, I asked what should I use instead of Woolite? That I had used Woolite for all my delicate things for years, and they said, Gain, cause its the mildest and it smells so so good. And then they said to stay away from Arm & Hammer detergent too, that it eats holes clean through sheets and husband's work shirts. I laughed and thanked them, "to think you believe something almost all your life, and then you find out you're wrong. I wonder what else we believe to be true that is actually false?" And they shook their heads and smiled and said, "Girl, keep your eyes and ears open, and the truth will come to you." More like I should go to the Dillard's Lingerie Department once a week for my information.
So this morning I returned to the Dillard's and while browsing through the strapless lacy things, my phone rang. It was my sister calling regarding matters of the heart, and we talked and talked. At one point in the call she apologized for being on the toilet while talking to me, because couldn't I hear the flush in the background? And I told her, "No worries, I'm standing here in a dressing room trying on bras, not an easy feat by the way, so we are both completely inappropriate in our mobile phone etiquette this morning." And then I gave her my advice, was it sage? I don't know, but I finished the call by recommending that she not let the cad move back in again. I deposited my little silk treasures on the counter and the lovely brown lady looked up at me from her inventory project and smiled, "Sounds like some good advice to me."
"Oh, yes, my lovely 41 year old sister just gave the heave-ho to her 26 year old boyfriend for the second, maybe third time."
"Child!" She shook her head sorting through my purchase, recording the prices in the register, delicately with her manicured hands, "Child! Change the locks and don't let the boy back in. He's looking for a mother. Yessir. That's all a 26 year old boy wants . . . to be mothered. Your sister needs a man!"
"Yes m'am, I agree. M - A - N!"
"M-hmm- let a young girl with energy take care of him. We don't have that kind of energy anymore!"
She wrapped my new things in tissue paper and handed me the shopping bag, "You tell your sister to take care now, buy herself somethin' pretty and forget those little boys!"