Nudie Butts & Mental Ruts

Heaving a sigh, Rob slams the front door and collapses on the couch.

"Tough day?" I mark the page of my book and glance up.

He shoots me a look and runs his hands through his hair. The short strands spike up in wild disarray. "I went shopping with my mother."

That'll do it. I grin and, as Rob rolls Simon to his back and strokes his belly, I go to the kitchen and put a beer in the freezer. Not that pale wimpy stuff he buys, but a real beer, a nice dark manly beer, a beer with guts, cause shopping with Betsy ain't for wimps.

Last week I took her to Saks Fifth Avenue. In the junior's department, she found a three tier pink gauze skirt and pulled it on over her pink jeans. She matched, I'll give her that, and the sales clerks were polite as she wandered from floor to floor. She ditched the skirt in the men's department and we moved on to Chico's.

Chico's was a madhouse. Women clogged the aisles, but Betsy slipped through the crowd, plucking clothes from racks and handing them over. The pile in my arms grew out of control and, when Betsy wasn't looking, I'd put a few back. She never noticed.

And she didn't notice the line of disgruntled shoppers waiting for the changing rooms.

I did.

Betsy ignored the line, went straight to the dressing room and attached herself to the back of the saleswoman clearing out the stall. A hush fell over the crowd. Throats cleared. Betsy waved for her stack of treasures.

I froze. Then I faced the crowd and did something I never did again. I mouthed, "alzheimer's," ducked my head and ran into the stall. In my defense, I was afraid of the crowd.

Rob heaves another sigh and the memory evaporates. I look up. "So where'd you go?"

"Where didn't we go. Mom wanted a swim suit."

Uhoh. I'm familiar with Betsy's nudie butt, but it still gives her son the willies. "So," I stifle a grin, "you got an eyeful?"

He blinks and shoots me a sour look. "That's not the half of it." He wanders to the kitchen, retrieves the beer and takes a few sips. "Mom knocked over the first rack of swimsuits."

I shrug. "I'm sure the clerks are used to stuff like that."

He studies me over the rim of the bottle. "She also knocked over the second rack. Two racks," he holds up two fingers, "she knocked over two racks of swimsuits."

"Happen's" I say, no longer able to hide a smirk.

He ignores me. "She finds a suit on the floor and takes it to the dressing room, but the dressing room is locked." He cuts me off when I open my mouth. "Before I can find a sales clerk, she strips."

"Out in the open?" I ask.

"Out in the open." He says.

"Bet you wanted to hide?" I manage before the giggles start.

"Who do you think was holding her upright?" He takes a long pull of beer and closes his eyes. "Two seconds after she stripped, the sales girls came back to the department along with a handful of customers. Mom's naked and I'm holding her by the elbow."

"Was she embarrassed?"

"No," he drawls, "she was pleased to find a new suit."

I snort and after a minute Rob starts to laugh.