Lovleigh

She grinned and watched her feet walk her right to my teller window.  Her red shirt gave away that she was either playing hooky from work or, well she told me, had been allowed to leave work early that day.  It was slow, she said, and added that she had been having fun but with no work, well… she couldn’t just hang out, she guessed, and I thought she half winked at me.  Her hair was probably graying a few weeks ago, but today, it was the color of chocolate with the texture of an SOS sponge.  Her body hung the way that bodies do when they shouldn’t have to worry about working 9-5 anymore, and bulged a few extra inches all the way up and down and on all sides of her once tall, slender figure. With her day off she supposed she might go shopping- “”for a braaaa”- she whispered from behind her hand, and raised her eyebrows as if to suggest that I, as I woman, knew what effort that entailed.  I looked at her breasts under her red shirt, as if I could help it, instantly assessing that yes, she could probably use some more support.  Again, from behind her long fingered-hand, “I have a wedddding next weekend”.

She’d heard of Muriel’s in Holland, though she grimaced at the drive.  I’d stood in the entryway of Muriel’s once, with my mom.  My aunt came floating on a cloud of glitter out of the dressing rooms in her dance unitard, exclaiming that even with Spanx she couldn’t get rid of her giant butt.  Admittedly, the color of the night sky stitched out of spandex and clinging tightly to it, stars and all, actually didn’t look too bad.  Round and generous Muriel herself said the same, and I’m sure she’d seen more than enough cases of Spanx acting only as a psychological tool for improving self esteem.

I told the lady I’d met someone there once.  That it seemed like a nice place, and that Holland was fun.  I wished her luck with her endeavor and she widened her eyes as a smile grew on her face. “Thaaanks”, she whispered.