Being entirely honest with oneself is a good exercise. (Sigmund Freud)
“Hey, let’s take her shopping for Mother’s Day?” A suggestion made by a super-special, many-years-younger person.
My husband thinks it’s a great idea. We have the time. Rare.
I am not a shopper. I’m a get-what-is-needed-and-run kind of individual. However, since Jay is recovering from knee surgery, I figure we won’t have time for extensive searches. Point out something good enough and I’m fine.
After all, no one can tell Arthur Ritis to take a hike. For good. They can’t buy me a few extra years to change choices I made in the past or wash away memories. Time can’t be extended. Magic wands to heal the ills of my friends exist in unwritten fairy tales.
We arrive and I hold my breath. More clothes? Very few items come in chihuahua-length leg sizes. Moreover, department-store mirrors are entirely too honest. They exaggerate wrinkles and add inches to my waist. (I have a vivid imagination.)
“Purses!” my aware friend calls. She points out the worn corners in mine.
“Nothing to try on.” I smile.
She leads the way, asks a few questions and leads the way through the aisles.
“Buying a purse?” a customer asks. She hands me a coupon.
“Even better.” Mission accomplished.
“Next time you need a wallet.” My friend leads the way toward the mall where Jay waits.
Next time. Yes! I am grateful to take reality in small portions.
terrypetersen 