Dear Diary, With a little gentle persuasion, and a suggestion that Karen didn't mean what she said, slowly Niece calmed. Dimly I recalled the wedding dress in question; it had been the talk of the town with its designer appeal. I enquired as to the exact whereabouts of the said wedding dress. Niece smiled, reminiscing about how wonderful her wedding had been with aunts, uncles, great aunts and uncles, cousins and friends who had gathered to join in the happy occasion. Dear Diary I felt I had achieved something; even it was only a settled Niece.
Later in the morning Niece had regained enough composure to bring the wedding dress out of its wrappings. It was as glorious as I remembered ... Chantilly lace and satin in a classic, never to date style, with a tiny coronet that set the dress of exactly with its circle of pearls and artificial flowers. Apart from one tiny stain the dress was as good as new.
An idea glimmered in my mind. I suggested Niece do her grocery shopping ... I had other plans.
Niece shut the door not as quietly as normal, and safe in the knowledge that it was safe to come into the kitchen, and have breakfast, though by now the meal should have been called brunch, Karen and Jake, sheepishly, padded in and proceeded to cook toast. I could have cooked them bacon and eggs, except that such an action could have been taken as manipulation. Dear Diary, I did have manipulation on my mind; subtle manipulation. So subtle that Karen would not realise the path along which I was heading.
Once Karen and Jake had eaten we washed up. Karen hadn't asked where her mother was, and I never volunteered, though I did murmur something about this might be just the right time to have a little chat. Immediately Karen visibly closed; her eyes became far away as if she was silently saying that she wasn't interested in what I might say. Too bad! Jake, sensing a serious situation was developing headed out into the garden. He had plans, he said, of tidying the garden. That was an excuse! Niece kept a wonderful garden, and apart from a small patch near the shed, the garden resembled an entry in the Chelsea Flower Show.
"Jake," I said. "I wish to speak to you both; in the lounge if you don't mind."
They looked at each other. I had spoken forcefully. They could see there was no escape.
Settled in the lounge I casually fingered Niece's wedding dress, which at this stage was carefully folded into a white bundle.
"Karen, have a feel of this fabric", I said.
In a spell of belligerency Karen scowled. I reminded her of the old adage my Mother had instilled in my childhood brain, 'Screw up your face and you will get wrinkles.' It worked. Karen didn't want to have wedding photos taken with wrinkles in her face!
With a little more persuasion she reached forward to touch the satin. I watched her face as the cool smoothness of the wedding dress captured her attention.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Just your Mother's wedding dress," I replied. "You called it an old rag, I was told."
Karen had the grace to blush as she mumbled that she hadn't meant what she said. She hadn't expected Niece to take over her wedding. A fair statement I thought, and told her so.
"Karen, would you like to look at this dress? You don't have to wear it, but don't you think you should actually see what is on offer? And think of how much money you will save if you like it, and of course if it fits you. Your mother was very dainty at your age."
At this stage I looked coy, hoping Karen would take the implication on board that her mother may have been smaller than she at the same age. Throughout my life I deduced that no-one likes the implication that their mother was better than them, be it size or looks.
Begrudgingly Karen revealed the wedding dress. She gasped!
"Aunt Alice!" she cried. "This is a gorgeous dress!"
I nodded, smiling smugly, and asked if perhaps she would like to try it on for size. Not that she was expected to wear it of course.
Five minutes late, after I had shooed Jake from the room [after all Dear Diary the prospective groom should not the his bride-to-be in her wedding dress until the big day], Karen entered the lounge. She looked beautiful Dear Diary, and it was clear her mind was made up.
Later in the morning Niece had regained enough composure to bring the wedding dress out of its wrappings. It was as glorious as I remembered ... Chantilly lace and satin in a classic, never to date style, with a tiny coronet that set the dress of exactly with its circle of pearls and artificial flowers. Apart from one tiny stain the dress was as good as new.
An idea glimmered in my mind. I suggested Niece do her grocery shopping ... I had other plans.
Niece shut the door not as quietly as normal, and safe in the knowledge that it was safe to come into the kitchen, and have breakfast, though by now the meal should have been called brunch, Karen and Jake, sheepishly, padded in and proceeded to cook toast. I could have cooked them bacon and eggs, except that such an action could have been taken as manipulation. Dear Diary, I did have manipulation on my mind; subtle manipulation. So subtle that Karen would not realise the path along which I was heading.
Once Karen and Jake had eaten we washed up. Karen hadn't asked where her mother was, and I never volunteered, though I did murmur something about this might be just the right time to have a little chat. Immediately Karen visibly closed; her eyes became far away as if she was silently saying that she wasn't interested in what I might say. Too bad! Jake, sensing a serious situation was developing headed out into the garden. He had plans, he said, of tidying the garden. That was an excuse! Niece kept a wonderful garden, and apart from a small patch near the shed, the garden resembled an entry in the Chelsea Flower Show.
"Jake," I said. "I wish to speak to you both; in the lounge if you don't mind."
They looked at each other. I had spoken forcefully. They could see there was no escape.
Settled in the lounge I casually fingered Niece's wedding dress, which at this stage was carefully folded into a white bundle.
"Karen, have a feel of this fabric", I said.
In a spell of belligerency Karen scowled. I reminded her of the old adage my Mother had instilled in my childhood brain, 'Screw up your face and you will get wrinkles.' It worked. Karen didn't want to have wedding photos taken with wrinkles in her face!
With a little more persuasion she reached forward to touch the satin. I watched her face as the cool smoothness of the wedding dress captured her attention.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Just your Mother's wedding dress," I replied. "You called it an old rag, I was told."
Karen had the grace to blush as she mumbled that she hadn't meant what she said. She hadn't expected Niece to take over her wedding. A fair statement I thought, and told her so.
"Karen, would you like to look at this dress? You don't have to wear it, but don't you think you should actually see what is on offer? And think of how much money you will save if you like it, and of course if it fits you. Your mother was very dainty at your age."
At this stage I looked coy, hoping Karen would take the implication on board that her mother may have been smaller than she at the same age. Throughout my life I deduced that no-one likes the implication that their mother was better than them, be it size or looks.
Begrudgingly Karen revealed the wedding dress. She gasped!
"Aunt Alice!" she cried. "This is a gorgeous dress!"
I nodded, smiling smugly, and asked if perhaps she would like to try it on for size. Not that she was expected to wear it of course.
Five minutes late, after I had shooed Jake from the room [after all Dear Diary the prospective groom should not the his bride-to-be in her wedding dress until the big day], Karen entered the lounge. She looked beautiful Dear Diary, and it was clear her mind was made up.
No comments:
Post a Comment