entirely unacceptable. When you get to a certain age, there’re areas of the body that cry out to be covered, and the neck and upper arms are two of them.
“She liked this one, too,” the saleslady said, reaching for the other purple gown.
“I’ll take it,” I said before she could whip out another bare-necked one. It was much more to my taste, a purple, I mean lavender, lace with a high neck and long sleeves, and I figured I’d better get it while the getting was good. No telling what else Binkie might’ve had her eye on.
“Oh, you have to try it on, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, as I averted my eyes from her state of undress.
Not wanting to put on a public display of nudity, I retired to a private space that was no more than a closet and stepped out of my dress. Putting on the lavender lace, which I was happy to note had tiny buttons all the way to the neck, I looked in the mirror. It fit, Lord, did it fit. I was not accustomed to anything binding me around the waist, but that thing started binding from the bustline to the hipline. Then it flared out enough to allow a few medium-sized steps.
I went out into the main room, hesitantly, because I wasn’t accustomed to all the swirling around my ankles the skirt was doing. Hazel Marie was standing on the platform, modeling her dress, and I must say she was a picture in it. Even though I wanted to throw a stole or a sweater around her shoulders before Mr. Pickens and half the town saw her in it. Emma Sue Ledbetter was going to have more to criticize than a little blue eye shadow.
“Oh, you’re beautiful, Miss Julia!” Hazel Marie cried. “Don’t you just love it?”
“It’ll do, I guess.”
The saleslady snuck up behind me and seized the back of the bodice. “We need to take this in; it’s too loose,” she said, turning me toward the mirror as she pulled the fabric tight enough to strain the seams. “See how much better that looks?”
Before I could disagree for the sake of taking a breath, Hazel Marie chimed in. “She needs a better bra, one that’ll give her some uplift.”
“I have all the uplift I want, thank you all the same,” I said, but they weren’t listening to me. Hands unbuttoned the bodice, reached around and noted my underwear size, and someone was dispatched to that intimate apparel shop that ought to be ashamed of the catalog it sends to unsuspecting homes.
The next thing I knew, I was back in the closet, refusing help from either of them, with the promise of at least trying on a wired-up, padded contraption the likes of which had never been on my person.
By the time I’d snapped, rebuttoned and ventured out again for their inspection, I was feeling some better about Binkie’s choice. When the fitter pinned the back of my gown, I finally dared to stand beside Hazel Marie and look in the long mirror. As Hazel Marie exclaimed over the fit and how the color of the dress complimented my hair and complexion, I marveled at the difference certain foundation garments can make in a woman’s general appearance. They can make a new woman of you, if you didn’t need to sit, walk, turn around or take a deep breath.
----
“Well, Hazel Marie,” I said, as we drove back toward Abbotsville. “It looks like I’m breaking with the tradition for mothers of the groom, even substitute ones, as I guess I am for Coleman.”
“I didn’t know there was a tradition.”
“Oh, yes, it’s an old saying but most mothers of the groom try to follow it, as well they should. Anyway, the tradition is that the mother of the groom should wear beige and keep her mouth shut. That’s exactly what I intended to do, but with that lavender dress Binkie wants me to wear, I guess I’m just throwing that part of the tradition right out the window.”
Hazel Marie turned her face away from me, her shoulders shaking and a strangling sound coming from her throat. I reached over, keeping one hand on the wheel, to pat her on the back so she could
“She liked this one, too,” the saleslady said, reaching for the other purple gown.
“I’ll take it,” I said before she could whip out another bare-necked one. It was much more to my taste, a purple, I mean lavender, lace with a high neck and long sleeves, and I figured I’d better get it while the getting was good. No telling what else Binkie might’ve had her eye on.
“Oh, you have to try it on, Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie said, as I averted my eyes from her state of undress.
Not wanting to put on a public display of nudity, I retired to a private space that was no more than a closet and stepped out of my dress. Putting on the lavender lace, which I was happy to note had tiny buttons all the way to the neck, I looked in the mirror. It fit, Lord, did it fit. I was not accustomed to anything binding me around the waist, but that thing started binding from the bustline to the hipline. Then it flared out enough to allow a few medium-sized steps.
I went out into the main room, hesitantly, because I wasn’t accustomed to all the swirling around my ankles the skirt was doing. Hazel Marie was standing on the platform, modeling her dress, and I must say she was a picture in it. Even though I wanted to throw a stole or a sweater around her shoulders before Mr. Pickens and half the town saw her in it. Emma Sue Ledbetter was going to have more to criticize than a little blue eye shadow.
“Oh, you’re beautiful, Miss Julia!” Hazel Marie cried. “Don’t you just love it?”
“It’ll do, I guess.”
The saleslady snuck up behind me and seized the back of the bodice. “We need to take this in; it’s too loose,” she said, turning me toward the mirror as she pulled the fabric tight enough to strain the seams. “See how much better that looks?”
Before I could disagree for the sake of taking a breath, Hazel Marie chimed in. “She needs a better bra, one that’ll give her some uplift.”
“I have all the uplift I want, thank you all the same,” I said, but they weren’t listening to me. Hands unbuttoned the bodice, reached around and noted my underwear size, and someone was dispatched to that intimate apparel shop that ought to be ashamed of the catalog it sends to unsuspecting homes.
The next thing I knew, I was back in the closet, refusing help from either of them, with the promise of at least trying on a wired-up, padded contraption the likes of which had never been on my person.
By the time I’d snapped, rebuttoned and ventured out again for their inspection, I was feeling some better about Binkie’s choice. When the fitter pinned the back of my gown, I finally dared to stand beside Hazel Marie and look in the long mirror. As Hazel Marie exclaimed over the fit and how the color of the dress complimented my hair and complexion, I marveled at the difference certain foundation garments can make in a woman’s general appearance. They can make a new woman of you, if you didn’t need to sit, walk, turn around or take a deep breath.
----
“Well, Hazel Marie,” I said, as we drove back toward Abbotsville. “It looks like I’m breaking with the tradition for mothers of the groom, even substitute ones, as I guess I am for Coleman.”
“I didn’t know there was a tradition.”
“Oh, yes, it’s an old saying but most mothers of the groom try to follow it, as well they should. Anyway, the tradition is that the mother of the groom should wear beige and keep her mouth shut. That’s exactly what I intended to do, but with that lavender dress Binkie wants me to wear, I guess I’m just throwing that part of the tradition right out the window.”
Hazel Marie turned her face away from me, her shoulders shaking and a strangling sound coming from her throat. I reached over, keeping one hand on the wheel, to pat her on the back so she could
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