I like Israeli shops

I have a confession to make….

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.