city haught left me? I’Ve
changed since I moved_to
Vermont. I make up new
words. I’m getting to know
myself. Slowly.

The sales lady tossed
some flimsy things on the
counter for me and I snatched
them up and escaped to the
dressing room, to hide. On the
way in, half-closed curtains
offered alarming glimpses of
pale, rolling flesh and hands
pushing and pulling at corsets.
Black satin, lace trim corsets. I
drew a pink curtain closed
behind me and tried to catch
my breath. How was it that

tossed in a couple more. _

“Whaddaya think?”

“Oh,” I said, “thanks,
uh.”

I heard her in the front
of the store, talking to mom.

“What is she looking
for?” Naturally the sales lady
was confused by my response.
“Is she getting married?”

“No!” mom said, or
shouted, rather. “She just did
get married. She wants some-
thing sexy!” Oh? That one with
the thighs on the poster --
that’s sexy, I thought. You're
getting warmer! said my little
voice.

Miss Pauline
asked me

looking

assing,

“ haddaya

for?”

I had no idea
where to start.
My chest was

Rnounding now.

V eats .
were ringing.

they were so shameless, and I,
so shamed? How could they be
so accepting of themselves, I
wondered. Why can’t I breathe,
I wondered. I don’t belong
here, I thought. Well, keep
going, anyway, I thought.

I was barely into the
second bra when the sales lady
threw open my curtain and

“Oohhhh!” said the
sales lady, “something sexy!”

The next bras that
came flying through the pink
curtain were sexy. And the sex-
ier they were, the worse I felt.
Delicate black lace and tiny
pearls. Pretty. Satin, shimmery
sheer pink. Lace on top and
satin below. Now how does

this one go on? The sales lady
came back and looked at the
bra I was in.

“It doesn’t fit,” I said,

. overcome.

“Sure it does,” she
said, and she started pinching
at the fabric, touching my
breasts, telling me they could
make a little adjustment here,
or here. An adjustment? I
thought, that’s an understate-
ment. Argh! the voice was
making my chest hurt, You’re
right on it! Come on.’ I ’m get-
ting laryngitis here.’

“It doesn’t fit,” I said
again, although the bra was
fine, really. The tiny closet of a
dressing room was stifling.

Meanwhile a conver-
sation from the front of the V
store rose in volume. And now
the whole store was talking,
from the front of the store,
from each of the dressing
rooms.

“She just got mar-
ried,’.’ someone said. “That’s
when it matters. She should
wear something sexy.”

“It doesn’t last — it
doesn’t matter after a while.
Twenty years I’m married and
I know, it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?! It
ALWAYS matters!” came the
thundering last word.

“Oh, you’re out!”
mom shouted.

“Not yet,” sighed the I

voice.

“What did you get?”
mom wanted to know. I
showed her one white, one
pink, and one black.

' “Good,” mom said,
and that was all. Thank God, I
thought. _

“All imported,” the
sales lady was saying, “25 per-
cent discount every day.” 7

Writer “Inga Singer” is a
mother of four, earned an MFA
and a law degree, and has
lived in Vermont since I 992 .

 

 

BL-()()1\/KIN’: ANTIUES
- A Group. Shop --

Boh Cafnara & Gary Taylor

Route 12

Fitzwilliam, New Hampshire
(603) 585-6688

. Open Daily
from

:0 A.M. - 5 PM.

your Tfeasure Is Our ‘Business.
(flfways Tfay Safe)

Friendly, Clean, Safe,

A Personal, Professional, .  A

Hate Free Environment.

Adults Only

802 - 893 - 2977 - www.imagoxxx.com
257}asper Mine Rood, Colchesterl it l7 0?.‘ 18 )

ICI n1inu!e:.fI'on*= E’»a_rr'€inczt-.:=n. St A.?bor.xs_, Ciionmlasn la!‘ «:19, ii?!‘

- Sol, EOc:m - 'éOpm ' Sun, lp-m — '§«‘pm