Mondays were nonworking days.
The aged seamstress made sure that all
garments were sawn, pressed and ready for her patrons before church time on
Sunday. She was dry spinster; hardly spoke more
than needed. Her best creations were the
wedding dresses she had to make for her clienteles. At the end of the order, when the happy
bride-to-be would pick up the beautiful white dreamy dress, when the little
brass bell above the door would ring to announce the bridal customers have just left the shop,
she will grab one of the round tins full with buttons and toss it as far as she
can chuck.
Then, flying down will be the box with
meticulously stacked thread spools, scissors and measure tapes and toss it in a
mess on the floor…
She was closed for business on
Mondays!
A fortune teller long time ago told her
she’d get married one Monday…
© 2015 copyright | an ode to… | sophia
terra~ziva | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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