Always Leave Them Laughing

I have been thinking of writing a memoir of my life for some time and in going over some notes I came upon some quite hilarious moments from my younger un-checkered past. You must remember it was a much more innocent time. We were not stupid, nor, perhaps even as naïve as our parents thought but we were not bombarded with televisions assault in our every waking moment describing every emotion and bodily function. I lived in a suburb of Rochester, New York. Rochester was a lovely place to grow up with family and extended family, good friends and boundaries, and an air of innocence.

From the end of first grade when I read the Louise Alcott’s Little Women I was a voracious reader. I went through all the children’s classics and series such as Nancy Drew and proceeded to read my Mother’s literary club books and mysteries. So, at the age of 10, when my Mother’s copy of Gone With The Wind arrived in the mail, I immediately immersed myself in it and became part of Scarlett, Rhett, Melanie, Ashley and the many other characters. When I read a word I did not understand I would figure out what I thought it meant and go on from there. At the beginning of the coming school year my cousin who was a hairdresser decided she would give me the “in” haircut of the day. It was called a feather cut and was quite short and easy to take care of. I on the other hand having been steeped in my romantic novel felt that I should have long hair that I could toss exotically when the occasion demanded, which didn’t occur to often in an eleven year olds girl’s life. After arguing back and forth and knowing I was losing the battle I blurted out, “What do you want me to be a virgin all my life?” Naturally, this was repeated, with great relish, by my cousin to the entire general public within shouting distance or for that matter on a phone line. Years afterward relatives would still question my intentions. This is one of the reasons I became a dictionary addict for you see I thought virgin meant sophisticated.

Some years later when I was sixteen, I worked part time in Edward’s department store. I worked in the stationary department. At twelve to one on Saturdays I would have to go to the drug department and fill in for Gert, a very large, rosy cheeked, Irish lady. One day as I was filling in for her a woman came up to the counter and asked me for a traveling douche bag. I didn’t know what that was but putting the words traveling and bag together and in my Sherlock Holmes wisdom I informed her that she would find the traveling douche bag in the seventh floor luggage department. Her look of skepticism made me assure her again that she would be helped in the luggage department. When Gert came back from lunch, I told her about the woman that had backed away from the counter with the strange look. She asked what she had wanted and I told her. She looked at me oddly and asked what I had said. I repeated my logical story. Gert’s usually flushed face became pinker, mauve and finally bright red. She literally shook like a bowl full of jelly. And naturally she told at least everyone on the main floor. From that Saturday on I was allowed to oversee the stationary department with its romantic writing paper, colored inks and graceful pens. These are just a couple of incidents from my dubious past that I thought seemed to be humorous enough to share with you.