I like
Israeli shops.
NOT
Israeli supermarkets. And NOT Israeli petrol garages. I like independently
owned outlets, the ones where the person serving you actually cares. Yes. Actually
gives a monkey’s.
About
YOU. The customer.
I
have discovered loads of these shops in Israel. They’re not popular anymore in
the UK, the problem being (as I may have mentioned previously) that you can
find everything you need in Beloved Tesco. So why go anywhere else?
But
here in Israel you can’t buy ‘suck-your-flab-in’ knickers in Rami Levy, and
there’s no hair dye stain remover (for when your hair colour somehow gets on
your nose) in Shufersal. So independent
shops come in rather handy.
I
found a new one today.
It
had a rail of comfy looking pyjamas outside the shop, with a big 50% OFF sign. Although
I’ve never been a confident clothes shopper, I am comfortable buying pyjamas. No one sees me in them and they help
me feel suitably attired for a Netflix binge-watch.
Then
I spotted swimwear. Also 50% OFF. Swimwear is not a regular purchase for me. The
last time I bought a decent costume was 6 years ago, when a friend convinced me
that someone with my physique perhaps needed a little more support than the
Tesco ‘Florence & Fred’ range was able to offer.
Living
in England there hadn’t been much call for swimwear, but living in Israel, I was
suddenly gripped by the realisation that it was nearly Summer, (it can get quite
hot), I may have to go to the beach at some point, (other people tend to go
there for fun), and I didn’t have a costume that fit me, (Tesco Florence &
Fred not being of long-lasting quality).
After
glancing around to see if anyone was watching, I tentatively fingered a few of
the costumes, saw the prices, had a heart attack, and made a move to scarper, but
a Short Man approached me, grabbed the two costumes I was tentatively holding
and stated loudly ‘ma ossimim l’melach ve ovodah’?
He
didn’t say that, exactly, as I made that up, but, as I don’t speak Hebrew (no -
I really don’t - I’m not being modest - and yes, I do realise I’ve been here
nearly 2 years), I didn’t understand a word he had said, so I gave my standard
reply of ‘Do you, by any chance, happen
to speak English, my good man?’ accompanied by a big embarrassed smile.
Well
of course he was fluent (he was of French extraction) and before you could say,
‘Have you seen the size of my
thighs, man?’, he had whisked me into the shop and sequestered me into a tiny
cubicle clutching a variety of brightly coloured Israeli made (= expensive)
swimming costumes.
Panic
ensued. I was trapped in a small changing room with a full-length mirror (I’ve
avoided one at home for the past 20 years) with only a flimsily made curtain to
protect my modesty. Not a position in which I have ever wanted to find myself.
Now.
Usually, I am a woman of strong will. I made
a decision that I was going to be more assertive (at the age of 45). So,
ordinarily, I would have pulled open the flimsily installed curtain and stated
forcefully - ‘Now look, Mr Short Man, you seem an awfully nice chap ‘n all, but
I’m really not in the market for an expensive Israeli swimming costume of
beautiful quality. I usually go for the Tesco ‘Florence & Fred’ range you
see.’
But
a small voice at the back of my mind was telling me that actually, actually, I needed new swimming costumes. I knew I shouldn’t be spending THAT
AMOUNT OF MONEY on swimwear but you can’t really wear jeans and a hoodie (my entire
wardrobe) to the beach in the summer. And my current physique is not what it
was. It sort of needs as much help as it can get to look ‘appropriate’ on a
beach (or anywhere really) .
So I
decided to try them on. I had no other choice. Short Man was on the other side
of the curtain blocking my only chance of escape. I considered making a run for
it, whilst he served another customer, but he managed to keep up a constant
chatter ‘I ‘ave gawjus coral colour – you like?’ and ‘I ‘ave smaller size as well
if you need…….’ (flirty smile), and there was no way I could leave in the
middle of a sentence. A lack of self-confidence means I’m a compulsively overly
courteous customer who is unable to be rude
- I couldn’t just ignore him. Heaven
forbid.
So I
pretended not to notice the incessant rustling of the curtain and heavy rasping
breathing noises outside and repeated my mantra ‘You’ve had three children Jo.
You can do this. It’s only swimwear Jo, you’ve given birth..…’
The
costume was on. But after ten minutes of staring at myself in the mirror, I
still had no clue whether the costume I was wearing looked ‘appropriate’. I
needed a second opinion. Mr Short Man was my only option.
I
made up my mind that he was 100% gay. I knew this for sure because
a) he worked in a women’s underwear shop
b) he was wearing a rather fetching pink frilly shirt
c) he appeared to be totally unaffected by the horror of a 46-year
old woman’s wrinkled body.
Obviously
gay.
Delighted
with my new-found knowledge I triumphantly whisked back the curtain to see what
he thought.
Mr Short
Man: ‘Well zat is ……..WOW!’.
Not
the reaction I was expecting.
I
burst out laughing.
No
one had ever said that to me when I’m dressed in swimwear. (Or even dressed to
go to a Simcha. Or, even, just, dressed).
Me: ‘Erm,
d’you not think my, erm, you know, my, erm…….well, don’t they look a bit…. big?’
Mr Short Man: ‘No no no no no no……….you ‘ave to flaunt zem if you ‘ave zem.
We need to pull zem up, not flatten zem down’.
I
looked at myself again in the mirror. Was the costume flattening zem down or
pulling zem up? After some manoeuvering and tweaking of my, ahem, assets by Mr Short Man, I felt
satisfied I didn’t look completely
hideous.
Emboldened
by new-found confidence I asked for another costume. Clearly, one swimsuit would
not be sufficient for all the beach outings I now had planned.
I
decided I was going to purchase two Israeli, beautifully made, ridiculously
expensive, swimming costumes. So what if they cost more than my weekly food
bill. The kids didn’t need dinner EVERY night.
I
made my way to the till. Still slightly apprehensive I questioned Mr Short Man about whether
a woman of my ‘proportions’ could really get away with being seen on the beach
in such an outfit.
Mr Short Man: ‘Oh! You can get away with anyzing. You. You have such a
gawjus smile. You light up zee room. I noticed it the moment you walked in zee
shop. You really ‘ave something special. Really. I not joking. You no need to
worry about ‘ow you look. Ever.’
I
was beginning to like Mr Short Man.
I’m
going back next week to buy some ‘suck-your-flab-in’ knickers.
