I never met either woman again. But I think of them often

Y

om Tov is coming, and like any woman worth her salt, I have nothing to wear. Time is short, lists are long, but in the name of self-care, I carve out a precious few hours to shop for myself.

The designated day arrives. I (pretend to) block out my to-do list, bundle up my baby, and hit the avenue.

An hour passes, then two, as I trek from store to store. There’s clothing I don’t care for, clothing that doesn’t care for me, outfits that are too fancy or not fancy enough, and one gorgeous set that’s sold out in my size. By the time I enter store number four, I’m exhausted, frustrated, and running out of time. I must leave with something.

I park my carriage and begin perusing the racks.

Three minutes in, like any baby worth his salt, my prince runs out of patience. I drop a green dress I’m considering and head to the front. He’s tired. I settle him with a paci and blanket, recline the stroller and give it a quick rock. Hopefully he’ll sleep now.