I went to a ball once and had an experience as magical as any fairy tale. My dress was long and my hair was piled high, like Dolly Parton’s in her early years.
Unfortunately, as I was getting ready, I put my big toe through the foot of my pantyhose. This was a major crisis, because even though my legs were fully covered by layers of fabric, in those days one did not go bare-legged to a ball — or the grocery store.
There was a shopping center on the way where I could buy new pantyhose. My husband, wearing his full dress Navy uniform, with its shiny buttons, gold epaulets, and colorful medals, came with me into a large department store, I can’t remember which. But I do remember that we made a lovely picture.
Especially me. Did I mention that I was also wearing a full-length satin cape and a tiara? Can you picture that? Pure, unadulterated Disney.
Fractured fairy tales
We entered the store and there was a hush. Everyone, every single person, turned to look in our direction. Like a magic genie, a manager suddenly appeared and said, “Hello. How may I assist you?,” then led us to ladies lingerie, where the sales clerk jumped over her counter to find what I needed: taupe, sheer toe, control top.
Do you know what it’s probably like when Prince William and Kate walk into Harrods or Target? Well, that was exactly like us, but without the accent.
During the entire $1.69 transaction the manager stayed right there, hands clasped behind his back like a loyal butler. Then both he and the clerk, along with several random shoppers, escorted us to the door, which he held for us. And I do believe the clerk curtsied. We went to the ball and it was fine, very la-di-da, but nothing compared to my pre-ball experience.
Flash forward
I think back to that memorable evening on those occasions when I have walked through the doors of an off-Island store and POOF! the magic happens, except that instead of being a “royal”, I become invisible.
Once on a Saturday, after we finished our typical weekend chores, we headed to Riverhead to buy a washing machine. We went into a large appliance store whose employees worked on commission, so they were eager to deal with customers who looked like they were ready, willing, and able to make a purchase.
Apparently, we didn’t.
When I finally caught the eye of a sales associate, he just nodded toward the back of the store and said, “The ladies’ room is on the left.”
So we just wandered around the washers, pretending we weren’t being ignored while we lifted lids and let them slam to try and get someone’s — anyone’s — attention.
“It’s your fault,” I said. “You look like a derelict with paint and grease all over your jeans.”
“No, it’s your fault,” he said. “If you combed your hair once in a while you wouldn’t look so scary!”
We left the store empty-handed, but it was okay because our old washing machine lasted another seven years.
Duck Dynasty meets The Hamptons
But history repeated itself when it was time to buy new kitchen appliances. I don’t know what possessed me to go shopping on the South Fork anyhow. I am never comfortable over there because I don’t blend.
Of course, it didn’t help that we were, once again, dressed for weekend chores and looked more like extras from Deliverance than royals.
Several sales associates did briefly glance up when we came through the door, then went back to their croissants and crossword puzzles. Only one young man looked vaguely interested. And actually, he wasn’t, really. It’s just that he was new and not sure yet how to radiate an “I’m too busy to deal with riff-raff” attitude.
It turned out to be his lucky day because I stood in one spot and pointed to the three appliances I wanted. And did I want the premium ice maker in the fridge? Why yes, I did. And what about the extra griddle for the stove?
“Yep. That too. And is it possible to buy five-year service plans for everything and have it all delivered?” I asked.
That boy was so excited his voice cracked.
The paperwork flew like confetti and two people had to leave their crosswords and croissants to help the newbie sort through it. When we left, the young man walked us to the door and held it for us. As we went through it, he even gave us a little bow, so it ended very well for all of us.
But, all things considered, next time I’m going to wear a tiara.
