The Slipper Slope of a Slip and Good Gardening

This is what’s on my mind …

It began with one bird doing a four sound song. Now a chirp has been added.

The morning is just beginning to arrive. I was up earlier than usual. Couldn’t sleep. I thought about gardens and soaking seeds in peroxide and thinking about high school chemistry and the elements.

The garden is on m mind. So much to do. So much to learn. Plans for this day and that. It—oh. Plans. They can be such folly, can’t they? The best laid plans of mice and men. And women. And dogs.

Light is coming more quickly, as are the sounds of cars and trucks driving on 55. People off to work. Good guacamole, I am glad I don’t have to drive off to work. I did that. For years. I got up in the morning, figured out what I would wear … that I hadn’t worn the day before, or two days before. I hated that. I would have preferred a uniform of, say, pajamas.

Fixing my hair was always a treat. Somedays, I thought it looked cool. But most days it was hit or miss. Some years, it involved showing houses or going on listing appointments. Here is a good story for you. One time, I sold a house to a big shot from the Amalfi division of US Shoe. Not only did he and his wife send a massive flower arrangement to my office, but one day I while at the office, I received a huge box with an assortment of a dozen Amalfi shoes. He had asked my she size, which I told him was a size smaller than it actually was, because I have big cloppers. But they were lovely, and I crammed my feet in them, for a while, until I couldn’t walk.

Those were the days that women wore slips. You younger women might not have experiences that joy. I think we had to wear slips because if someone saw light between our thighs when we wore a dress or skirt, the world would end. Volcanoes the world over would erupt and the teachers at North Norwood and Norwood High, would have gottenthe vapors.

I hated having to wear a slip. The elastic in half slips would always get loose. One time, when I was on a listing appointment at a big house toward Lebanon, I was standing outside with the woman homeowner, talking about the listing, when I felt somethinslide down my legs.

I looked down. My half slip was in a puddle around my ankles. I stepped out of it, picked it up and put it in my purse.

Another problem I had with a full slip was when I substitute taught at Kings Junior High.

I had no business substituting. I didn’t like being around kids. Except my own. Especially seventh graders. Who resembled hormone ridden totem poles.

When the bell rang and the twerps were leaving the room, one girl came and handed me a note. I opened it. It said … “Teach,you got static cling. Bad.”

And I did.

I liked that girl.

And then there was the time when I had one of those days at work when I felt that I looked fine. Mighty fine.

At lunch, I had to run some errands. I ran to the restroom, first, and then trotted off to Walmart.

I walked through the store feeling fine, mighty fine. I mean, I was a catch at Walmart. I went back to the fabric section and housewares and took my time.

As I was walking down an aisle, a woman’s came up to me and sad, “Lady, you got a whoosh.”

“A what?” I said.

“A whoosh. Your slip and dress are stuck up in your pantyhose band.”

I flipped my head around. Sure enough, my pantyhose ass was doing a show and tell at Walmart. I must have turned fifty. Shades of beet.

I pulled my dress and slip out from the band and brought the curtain down on that show.

I bolted. Walking quickly, until a woman stopped me.

“I am glad you got that fixed. I tried to get your attention when you came in, but I couldn’t.”

I faked a smile and a thank you and thought, “I will never go to this store, again.”

Yep, I looked fine. Mighty fine.

Egads. Even the birds have stopped singing. I guess I slipped up.

I have no clue what I was going to write about, but that doesn’t matter. You know how plans go.



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