Been vaguely trying without much success
to throw papers away including very old
words from my file. Here are two.
Obituary of the Town Shop
owner where I’ve bought my bras for years:
I can tell your size when you walk in the door said
Selma Schapiro. I’ve never used a tape measure
and I know your bra is probably wrong.
Then this one of my favorite personals from
The New York Review of books:
Stupid, ugly, impossible to please man
wishes to meet his polar opposite.
The old Town Shop was better. More intimate. Selma used to sit in that niche. Her son was afraid to put racy underwear in the window. Because his mother would disapprove.Where else can a woman be fitted for a bra and be told “I don’t like that one on you” I think they sold house dresses, my mothers garb of choice. We need to shop there to keep it going.
you capture the indescribable, dear esther. with so much gratitude, margot