Take Her To Saks II

When Blanche Bauman of Beverley Hills strolled
into the room, all heads turned. She crossed her
long legs, and gave the judge her full attention.

There I was at the national Bible contest,
struggling to answer the next question
for the crusty judge, when Blanche strolled in

full of razzle dazzle. Blanche, Mom's second
cousin, visiting New York, figured she'd
swing by, and lend her support.

That day, I didn't win the grand prize,
a trip to Israel, I came in third which
was kinda' sad, but I'd live with it.

"Jean, why didn't you dress her up more? Then
maybe the judges would've noticed her more."
Blanche inquired of my Mom.

Her words rebounded inside me. In my
cotton black suit and white blouse, I felt like
a church mouse in need of a meal, scrounging

around for a morsel here, a morsel there.
I'd been holed up in an attic, studying
away. dutifully prim and proper.

Next day, Mom confessed that we'd traipsed around
all day and found nothing for my big party.
"Jean, what's the problem? Take her to Saks."

Never saw Blanche after that day, but Blanche,
in her silks and alligator heels, had
advocated for me and opened a certain door.


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