For as long as I can remember, Black Friday was a tradition.
Day-after-Thanksgiving sales.
Appearance of Santa Claus.
But, in recent years, I’ve shied away.
Why? you ask.
Crowds.
Pandemic.
Reports of intermittent violence.
Ease of ordering online.
This year, an aberration.
Departing from my avoidance.
For my fourteen-year-old granddaughter needed clothing.
I needed to bond with her.
What better way than to shop?
Neither of us likes shopping.
So, we started out on common ground.
Moaning, groaning about selecting, trying on, winnowing.
Counter to expectation, both wear size large jeans.
Another mutual sympathy.
So it went.
Traipsing store to store.
Elbow to elbow with bargain hunters.
Peering at pants, tops.
Curbing my boomer perspectives.
About flimsy cut-off shirts offering skin, no winter warmth.
Appreciating Liora’s inclusion.
What do you think of this one, Yaya?
And relieved after two hours.
When she announced she’d had enough.
Three slacks, three tees, a skirt, one sweater.
Our Black Friday spree successful.
Weighed down, clothes up to date.
More precious, the relationship,
refreshed, strong, intimate.
Lynn Benjamin
November 29, 2023
