I See Your Underwear
Mom walked up behind me, and in the second before I turned around, I had a flashback.
I was in elementary school. The inside of Coker’s Department Store was a cave. Fluorescent lights spotlit stuff. Clothes and shoes. Sheets and blankets. China and fancy table linens.
I spent several days of my life in the lingerie department at Coker’s when I was a child………waiting, while Mom carried piles and piles of unmentionables into the dressing room. It is a fundamental Rule of Being a Southern Lady that undergarments must match at all times. If one is in a car accident, and the paramedics must cut through clothing, it would be mortifying for them to see mismatched drawers and bra.
I turned around, where Mom waited. In the kitchen. In front of a window that faces the street. In matching black camisole and panties…….and the most ridiculous shoes.
“I wanted to show you these shoes, Andra.”
“Really? Because it looks like you wanted to show the whole neighborhood your underwear.”
She stood firm. Held her pose. I think she even turned ever so slightly toward the freezing glass. “So…..do you like them?”
So, now I have a new pair of silly shoes. At least she didn’t try to give me her panties, too.