Maternity Clothes

Ida sighs as I breeze in. It's my fifth visit. And I haven't bought anything. Just looked, made her open up folded tee-shirts to inspect and comment on. Today's different, though.

I have a tiny piece of paper on which I have written three different styles that are acceptable. However, I stuffed said piece of paper into cavernous bag and now can't find it. I rootle for a while as Ida's smile grows increasingly pained.

Meanwhile, other customers, real customers, with baby bumps come in and run their fingers through the racks, savouring the colours, the textures, all these cool clothes for mothers-in-waiting.

"Ahhhh...here it is," I bring out my little piece of paper triumphantly. "OK do you have the pintuck jersey dress?"

Ida stares at me blankly.

"What about the cowlneck blockcolour?" I ask, still hopefully.

She shrugs, puzzled.

"The front crossover empire dress?" I venture, enthusiasm waning.

"No, kak, our dresses are labelled according to size - short, mid-length, long..."

Hmmm....although I had a dekko at said dresses on website, I can't really remember what they look like. So I go inspect all the dresses on display. One looks like the front crossover empire dress but I can't be sure. Also written on my tiny piece of paper are the colours that are not welcome - yellow and light grey. There's one with a sort of scrunched up front. Donno what they call it, since the label goes for simplicity. "Mid length"

Ida tells me she would have to call the office to check. Except that it's late and the office is closed. Also, she cannot check online. They haven't had an internet connection for three days. Dunno why.

Unfazed, I move through the racks holding up the different dresses and blouses against self. Ida is convinced that I'm the one who is pregnant. And I just made up a friend in Australia to...well, she doesn't know why. No telling why these mad women do what they're doing.

If she cared to ask, I'd reassure her on that point.

Not pregnant.

Just fat.

Anyway, after bugging her life with about a week of daily visits, I finally settle on one rust-coloured dress. Sort of interesting front. Maybe empire crossover. Maybe not. This time, like every other time, I make her open the cute little baby tees (seems sort of counterintuitive, baby tees for a pregnant lady? but Ida says they are very popular and say I'll think about it. Again).

She has the patience of a saint. I finally pay for my one purchase instruct her to call the head office and ask about the dresses with the funky names, and sail off into the sunset, swinging my 9Months bag and singing untunefully.

Ida refolds the tee-shirts, shaking her head.

It takes all sorts.