There's nothing wrong with stretching the truth. We stretch taffy, and that just makes it more delicious.-Stephen Colbert

Greetings my Dear Ones!

The sky is the color of a blank projector screen above Hermit Hollow these days—all the fire and glory of the Fall has been replaced by shades of ash. People who enter the shop, people who have lived IN NEW ENGLAND…Continuously…For fifty years or more, are looking at me with wide eyes and saying “I can’t believe how cold it is. Can you believe how cold it is? Do you know they are already calling for snow?”

“Better get your bread and milk on your way home,” I remind them as they shuffle away, shaking their heads.

At work, thanks to Daylight Savings, we finish our shifts in the dark. The windows are already black when the phone rings and a person asks me a familiar question. I can always tell if I am dealing with a pessimist or an optimist by the way they ask: The optimist says “How long are you open ‘til?” The pessimist says “How soon do you close?” In this case, I am dealing with an optimist. “Can I get there by 5?” she asks, upon hearing that we are “open” until then.

“I don’t know, Dear,” I respond. “It’s about a quarter to five now, how long will it take you to get in here?”

“Oh, only about fifteen to twenty minutes,” she assures me confidently.

“So, just to be clear, we are open until five o’clock, but you are planning to get here right when we close or a little after, right?” I am asking both to clarify and to indicate that this might be the teensiest bit annoying as hell.

“Is that a problem?” she asks.

“No…” I say hesitantly, still hoping she feels a little guilty, “I can wait for you but not very long—I’m driving back to Vermont tonight. Is this a major emergency?”

“Not really but it could be,” she says. “My cousin and I just need some dresses hemmed sooner rather than later.” Oh, great. DressES…as in plural, with a cousin in tow no less. Prudence and I agree that it is Ok to judge these people. (It’s really Not—but I’m tired, crabby, and I have a bit of a drive ahead of me in the dark rain.) Just to be peevish, I turn the sign on the door to “Closed” at five o’clock, even though I don’t actually lock the door. I have to have a brief chat with the part of me that is pouting, a reminder about our need to behave like a gracious Professional, when a car finally turns into the drive ten minutes later.

I am deceitfully sweet, as they sweep in with the rain and drip on the floor I have just swept. I attempt to get one into the dressing room and one into the bathroom to change simultaneously and save time.

“No thanks,” says one, utterly missing the point, “I can wait. She can go first.” The other nods and saunters into the fitting room with THREE dresses. The other cousin, likewise, is holding three dresses. My Inner Pouter is tempted to put on an English Accent and act like a snooty, affronted butler—of Service, yes, but with an Attitude. At the last minute, she decides against it. We carry on with the Sweet charade.

The first woman emerges from the dressing room in her first dress and twirls. “What do you think?” she asks, knowing she is Adorable. I cannot see anything “wrong” with it in the least, not even the hem. It is a simple, black, dress made of stretchy material that I might say “fits her like a glove” if I actually believed that gloves ever fit anybody. (They don’t—not really.) This fits her better than any glove ever dreamed of fitting.

“What exactly do you wish to have me do to it?” I ask, sweetly, adding “It fits you beautifully.”

“Oh! Well, I just wanted your professional opinion,” she says, grinning and talking at herself in the mirror. “I wasn’t sure if it looked good or not. I left the tags on it in case you told me to take it back to the store.” Prudence’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. It is her Professional Opinion, AFTER HOURS, that these two should march right out the back door and keep going. “Did you not try it on AT the store?” I ask. Could she not see for herself that she looked fabulous? Does the cousin she dragged in here with her not have eyes and a mouth she could have used to speak up on the dress’s behalf? Does she not trust her cousin? She tries on the next two dresses. Only one needs a tiny bit of a hem. She looks amazing in all three dresses.

“My new diet is so great,” she announces, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “I just listen to my body. My body is always trying to heal itself in miraculous ways. All summer, she wanted eggs for breakfast, now, it’s oatmeal. Makes sense, right? The weather is colder so I need more carbs. Some days I just might forget to eat altogether but she reminds me that I need some nutrition. It’s so clever!” She is considerably smaller than her cousin, who suddenly emerges from the bathroom in her undergarments. The cousin has on all three: tights, Spanx, and underwear—none of which line up with the same margins. Both the spanx and the tights have rolled down a bit, creating cruel bands that cut deeply into her flesh. She now has the side profile of a many-segmented worm. She looks in the mirror and sighs heavily.

“Yeah, well, that’s just great for you then. Your body isn’t telling you to eat grandpa’s food tray at the hospital while no one else is looking.”

“Honey, um…” the slimmer cousin says, pointing to the Spanx and tights.

“Yeah, I get it. You’re supposed to put these things on in a different sequence. How is it supposed to smooth things out if I wear my panties and tights over it? I know… It’s just for a quick fitting. I’ll get it right when I actually wear the dress.”

“Wait, You’re eating Grandpa’s food tray?!”

“I can’t stand to see it go to waste.”

“But he’s been comatose for a week! Have you been eating ALL those meals?”

“Wha-at? Don’t look at me like that! I’m doing what you do. I’m ‘listening to my body.’”

“You’re not supposed to listen, where purloined hospital food is concerned! Hospital food? Yuck!” The smaller cousin stares at her as if she has never seen her properly before.

Suddenly, I can “hear” my body telling me it is time to wallop the smaller cousin. She is considerably younger than I but I could probably take her. I have intense compassion for the bigger cousin and a sudden desire to protect her. Many’s the time my body has told me to eat or drink things it really wasn’t supposed to...Swiss cake rolls, Margueritas, an ENTIRE stalk of roasted brussel sprouts…(oh, SO yummy!) It happens to everyone.

The second cousin slips on her dress and considers herself in the mirror. The dress, though tight, looks mostly ok.

“What size is that?” asks the first cousin. The second cousin gives her a number. The first cousin’s eyebrows shoot towards her scalp.

“Hey! That’s MY size!” she exclaims in surprise.

She is witnessing the miracle that is neoprene fabric. Since 1958, scientists and fashion designers have been collaborating to make stretch fabrics—“elastimerics” such as spandex, Lycra, or elastane to help slightly overweight women be “the same size” as their somewhat smaller, more arrogant cousins. Stretch fabrics are basically synthetic rubber fibers produced by the polymerization of chloroprene—a process developed by DuPont in the 1930’s—proving that there really is “better living through Chemistry.” Neoprene is sold either as solid rubber or in latex form and is used in a variety of applications such as orthopedic braces, laptop sleeves, and dresses that make you think you are anywhere from 2-4 sizes smaller than you really are. The fabric comes in 2-way stretch, from selvedge to selvedge, (think of it as East to West stretch) or 4-way stretch, (North-South-East-West stretch) so as to accommodate 3-dimensional bodies of any shape, as well as any purloined hospital food they may have consumed. Fashion designers have been using stretch fabrics as early as the mid-1980’s, first for swimsuits and bras, then for sports clothing. Now, it’s evening and formal wear. Nothing simplifies the construction of clothing like stretch fabric. One does not have to be incredibly precise to get a good fit.

The second cousin tries on the other two dresses, even though she has decided she likes the first one the best. She thinks she will bring one back to the store and have the other hemmed a tiny bit. So after examining a total of six dresses, mercifully, there are only two that need minor alterations. It’s time to get out of here.

“When do you need them?” I ask, wondering if there really was an ‘emergency’ on the horizon.

“Well, by grandpa’s funeral. But he’s not dead yet, so we are not sure when that will be. I’m sure you have until the end of the week. Maybe we should have them by Thursday just in case.”

All the way back to Vermont, I consider these two women and the complexity of their situations—from their family ties, body types, and genetics to their relationship with each other. There was a reason they needed to try on their dresses in front of a neutral third party, as well as a bond that made them shop together in the first place. They are united in their love for their grandpa and their wish to honor him at his funeral by showing up in black neoprene dresses of identical sizes.

My mind wanders off on the concepts of “Boundaries” and “Honesty” and how challenging it can be to choose between the old-fashioned Civility of good customer service and the need to maintain a pre-established schedule that is set up to be fair to customers and employees alike. Rigidity vs. Flexibility. Sometimes, we cannot know the Truth—such as the day or hour Grandpa will head off to his Eternal Glory, simultaneously depriving one of his somber descendents of her dietary supplements and creating the need for stretchy grieving garments. Sometimes, we know the Truth but we have to stretch it a bit—such as feigning Delight at having customers arriving after closing time, or imagining that we really ARE a certain size. Sometimes, we think we know the Truth but we just don’t have enough information, experience, or compassion—such as those Life Experiences necessary to engender Loving Kindness for another’s compulsions. Think of the days when none of our fabric stretched, Ever, At all. It was not that long ago, when shirts were starched and jeans were like boards. The fabric of a family, the fabric of society, the outward manifestations with which we cloak ourselves in ceremonies, words, deeds, items from J.C. Penny’s… is it not wonderful now, to have just a little Give to them? The Only Truth that really matters is that Love has no Size, no Time, no restrictions or limits of any kind.

May we all be just a bit more Flexible today! Stretch On, my Darlings, and thank you for your Good Work!

Yours aye,

Nancy