An 80-year-old woman walked into my lingerie store.
I knew her age not because of the reams of wrinkles or the gracious slight stoop, but for the delicate way she squeezed my hand and said,
Help me feel pretty for my eightieth birthday.
Pretty! At eighty! In lingerie!
How brave, I thought behind my saleswoman smile. How radical.
I know what you’re thinking, she chuckled. What am I doing squeezing myself into skimpy lace at this age?
Is it for your husband?
She shook her head. He’s been gone for five years now.
It’s just for me.
She arched a brow cheekily and added, you don’t just lose the desire to admire yourself once you hit a certain age, you know, no matter what we’re all led to believe.
Why is it so surprising that a woman—no matter how old—wants to feel pretty?
I blushed and quickly nodded my agreement. She laughed a raspy, full-throated laugh and pat my hand.
I picked out a few exquisite chemises and led her to the dressing room, making a mental note to pick a lacy set for myself to wear tonight.
She took her time with the pieces and when she came out, she did a careful twirl.
How do I look?
She beamed, because she already knew the answer: Absolutely gorgeous.