A brief glimpse of my recent breakfast with the boys.

     Occasionally a few of my male cousins, nephews, and I get together for breakfast at some all-you-can-eat buffet like Golden Corral. We do it to take some of the rough edges off the stress of daily living, to engage in male bonding, and to poke fun at one another. There’s always a bit of unintended competition to see who can relate the best story— one that nobody’s heard before. But, on the other hand, if we have heard it, most are usually polite enough to listen again without letting the storyteller know. We do have a great time indeed each morning we meet.

     The regulars who frequent these all-you-can-eat spreads range in size from pencil thin to the morbidly obese. Some take only a speck of this and a morsel of that, while others pile it on till it falls from the edge of their plates, all the time thinking to themselves, May as well get all I can this trip. That way I can rest up while I’m eating and gain strength for the next plateful. Oh my, Americans do enjoy their food, and I get a kick out of watching them shovel it in and wash it all down with some kind of diet drink. Perhaps that takes away some of the guilt. I don’t know.

     Usually, some kind of nonsensical incident will happen to cause extended laughter throughout the meal. This morning was no different. I think I was first to spy her. Perhaps I saw her simultaneously with my nephew, Jerry. It’s hard to say. At first we snickered and discussed her quietly in the midst of the patrons coming and going to collect their goodies. Then, after returning to our table, I told one of my other nephews, Ronnie, about it, so he had to go and see for himself. He soon came back to the table, sat down, and laughed, “Boys, that was worth coming all the way here to see.” Of course, that remark was an open invitation for some of the other fellows at the table to go and take a look for themselves. A few, however, remained seated, consumed with their delight in satisfying their taste buds rather than some sideshow that was perhaps not worth the effort of getting out of their chairs.

     I’d say she was no less than seventy-five, this lady who added amusement to our moment of nourishment. My wife’s always asking me, “How do you see as many things as you do?” And to that, I question, “How can I not see them when they are right there before me?” But, I digress. I think the first thing about this semi-elderly woman that caught my attention was her hair. It was quite clean and completely gray. In fact, it shined. But its length and style did not fit the norm for her age. No, the Shirley Temple curls and rhinestone-studded barettes that held the tresses like drapes from her forehead were comical indeed. No one knew I was laughing for it came from within. So, with plate in hand, I looked at the food and, from time to time, glanced at the lady. After all, I didn’t want her catching me in the act of staring, nor did I want anyone else seeing me doing it either. What an impolite thing to do right there in the thoroughfare to and from the buffet.

     Next, my eyes swept rapidly up and down her entire person, careful not to miss a square inch in the brief time I was allotted for each glimpse. The shoes she wore were black and rounded at the toes. They were like the patent leather ones most of us have seen little girls wear to Sunday school or whenever their mothers dress them up for a family portrait— shoes with a strap running across the top of the foot and buckle at the side. Although they didn’t have the luster of patent leather, their design was just the same. The socks she wore were dark pink, and their tops were folded down and encircled with matching lace for added adornment. Her soft cotton sweater and pink socks were like peas in a pod, as if they were made from the same dye lot so many years before.

     If she had been only moderately obese, perhaps her hair, shoes, socks, and sweater would have gone unnoticed. However, the dress itself, in combination with the lady being a bit too chunky, were the items that drew my eyes like magnets to this person the most. The bottom of its hem was no less than six inches above her sagging and bulbous knees. Its print consisted of alternating, vertical rows of off-white and flowered strips, each outlined by black stripes. Above a high waistline that met with sagging breasts, the material was again off-white, with adequate lace for prettification. My immediate thought was: This person must have seen Shirley Temple in Bright Eyes when it hit the big screen in 1934, and she has never recovered. I even thought she might do a song and dance to “On the Good Ship Lollipop,” but it only took place in my imagination. What a pity. It would have made a wonderful show for all who were present.

     The image of this lady has been forever imprinted on my brain— at least as long as I have a memory for such things. I’m glad, too, for it’s people such as she who make life more bearable for those of us who view ourselves as ordinary citizens. On the other hand, perhaps she and others are catching occasional glimpses of us at the breakfast buffet, thinking we are the unconventional populace— the sources for their own inward laughter. I don’t know.

© 2007 David Lee Thompson. All rights reserved.