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February 20, 2006:    Oh Yes! I can help you! I can educate you!

Today I went into a boutique to chose between some shirts that cost about 300 dollars each on the average. Even T-shirts, hand sewn, cost that much. Things like the clothing line, "Da Nang," yes, that was "Da Nang," for “googlers!

A sales person who was of Mexican heritage met me. I could tell this as easily as any person raised as I was in Arizona and California. The accent is a big give away as well! She DID have three hair colors, but by and large, a sweet young girl, trying to make it through a Jr. College.

I tried it all on. Everything in the house! I wanted that "special top," that we all do, and I am one to look long and hard for it. I am a dancer, among other things so I made it easier for her and I helped myself to this or that and asked her size questions on new lines. I had some big fun and narrowed it down to one I loved, which I purchased a one of a kind.

During my ordeal of clothes mania, my husband came in and sat on that sofa for husbands or friends accompanying you while you shop. He was asked if he wanted a beverage. He said no, as usual. He is shy that way. I usually get by this by whispering to the salesperson, "He likes diet Dr. Pepper, Root Beer, or Coke." I, yes, a glass of wine does nicely.

So there I am, my size six person, 5’8” with mean little highlights on my dark hair, trying on every top I see that looks like I might like it. I only bother my husband with the fun ones. My husband may take a call in this situation, and that's fine with me.

This time, a woman and her, (I think,) daughter came in to look for a dress for the young one for a wedding. (I confess, I learned this from my husband, who hears everything, I hear nothing because I am trained to ignore all, as dancers have to.)

This woman and her daughter were, I can only describe as "white." I am Italian, with one French grandfather, and my father and his family are first generation from Venice, so I am "old country," and the "one drop" rule applies to me, I look Italian, completely. This is fitting because I was raised so and I appear completely Italian without the extra weight or short stature. I looked "different," from the light skinned woman and her daughter.

At one point, little miss came out in a camisole and a skirt that was heavily embellished, but too much so. She made a comment: "I feel like I just role from the ocean!" I was coming back to my dressing room and there are only two so I smiled at her joke, using the mirror, as dancers will. (We can watch entire stores, AND outside from ONE mirror, we can feel people near us, as we are trained to, but this is another skill no one gives us credit for.) A few min. later, I was returning yet again to my dressing room and young-ish-blond-thing," asked me if I could get her something, I didn't catch it because I do not work there, you see. I saw how she asked me… She looked at me with a VERY strong, what I can only describe as "down at me," look, and it was decidedly a "do this for me as you are told look." It was a very trained, "serve me," look and the words were well practiced.

I will admit here than my family had help. We needed it. My mother was very, very ill and my parents were spoiled "rich kids," so my mother did little or no cooking, hardly any house cleaning, etc. My mother was soft spoken though, and she never swore or yelled that I remember. Maybe once at my father. My mother also had a thing about the "white girls," and how I was NOT to be like them. I, at the time, thought "why not?" I thought this as I met them at the country clubs where I played tennis and with my violin teacher, as well as with my swim coach. "They," were all I had to befriend…there were no blacks at the country clubs, no Hispanics, nor Middle Easterner!  I was an outsider even in my family, having the only black hair, but lighter skin.

So, that said, back to my "white folk," story. She asked me in that professional way to serve her and I said in my best "ballet face, and voice," which means NO facial emotion, and voice with NO tone, "I'm sorry, I don't work here." I felt bad for the mermaid, I really did. She needed help!

She immediately said she was sorry. She said, "I am SO sorry for that!" " I don't know why I thought you worked here, I AM sorry!” I was wondering why it was so important to her. I said, "It's fine." And proceeded with my search.

Within a few min., she saw me again, and came face to face and said it again, this time," I’m SO sorry!" I'm feel so embarrassed!”

Okay, now I'm wondering WHY is she so upset? Is it an insult to mistake me for an employee? Why is she dwelling on this and staring at me. When she met my eyes after that, she looked DOWN! (I am serious about this!)

Why? I kept wondering? I thought about my coloring and that of the employee. I thought about all the Hispanic maids in this area of the country. I got it, *ping! And so as I was checking out, I said a bit loudly, "Did the little mermaid find a dress? My husband said, with the sales person near us, " She’s still here!" He said it with a whisper and hiss. I said, "oh, is she?" I had the same tone.

She came out of the room in another little embellished mermaid thingy that at least matched this time, on he healthy and plump body. As I was leaving, I said to her, "That looks better, don't you think?" She replied with her eyes down, "um, yes." Everyone was happy then, I think.

Adventure everywhere, if one looks!

Amp, a bit dark, just a little, little bit, but enough "dark."