I love puttering by Holts. For those outside of Canada, Holt Renfrew is a very, very, upscale store. Joe and I once saw a shirt in there that we thought would look good on him. We went in to discover that it cost almost 1000$. We tried to put it back with a ‘no, it’s not quite right’ air rather than a YEEEEOUCH THAT’S EXPENSIVE panic. We haven’t much ventured in since. The people who go in and out have exquisite skin – skin that looks pampered and powdered and perfect. Some take an attitude that their poo don’t stink, some take an attitude that all the rest of us stink like poo, and others are simply very, very nice. Its often easy to tell which is which – equally often I get them mixed up.
Joe and I love the specialty tea shop down the far end of the mall and to get there we have to go by Holts. A couple days ago we were going by and a woman came out of Holts carrying a bag in a very nicely manicured hand. Her clothes looked like the material was clipped out of the sky and sewn by cupids in a heavenly sweat shop. They draped. They flowed. They called out to be touched. The woman in the divine clothes walked with a strength of purpose that only real purpose portrays.
As she sped past me, I was going Joe speed in my chair, she glanced down at me and said, ‘Do you have a license to drive that thing?’ I glanced up and saw her smile. I said, ‘Honey, if you get yourself a police costume, you and I could have a real good time.’ She stopped, startled at what I’d said.
She threw her head back and laughed. A really deep down, toned, tanned and tawny belly laugh.
Her throaty laugh caught me off guard and I laughed so hard I nearly drove into a wall. For a couple of seconds three people, all very different, stood howling in the mall.
Before leaving she wiped her eyes, which had makeup that didn’t run, and said, ‘Isn’t it great when people aren’t who you expect them to be?’
‘It is,’ I said, ‘it is.’