“Hi, when do you think I can get these back?” (I spread a few delicate dresses across the counter.)
“Uh, let’s see what we got here an I’ll let ya know how long we need to hold onto ‘em. How ‘bout this grey one?” (He turns the fabric over and inside out) “Silk? Any stains?”
“Yeah, here at the top” (I point to a large patch of discolored fabric right at the neckline.)
“Ahhh, I see. What is it?”
“Um, alcohol. Gin martini, I think.” (He “marks” the swath with a sticker and throws it into a bin behind him.)
“ ’kay, how ‘bout this. What is it? A blouse? There’s spots here, near the hem. What kinda spill?”
“ Alcohol.” (I cringe) “Some kinda after-dinner…whatever, do you think it’ll come out?”
“Yeah, we’ll do what we can. What else you got?”
“Well, this red dress is my absolute favorite. Here’s the stain.” (I point and remember with disdain the drunken guy who bumped into me and then said “Hey at least that dress is already red, right?!”) “I think that one’s red wine…”
“And that?” (He points to the last fluttery frock still in my arms.)
“Um, yeah, this one’s got a stain too.” (I hand over my navy and cream striped satin.)
“Whatd’ya get on this one?”
“Alcohol. Maybe champagne.”
(He finally raises an eyebrow over the counter.)
Blushing, I say, “Sorry, it’s been the holidays!”
(Smirks) “Pick ‘em up Tuesday, Doll.”
I grab my dry cleaning ticket and stuff it my bag as I push my way out onto 4th Avenue, my cheeks the color of a Cosmopolitan.
January 8th, 2008 - 1:07 AM
Maybe you shouldn’t par-take in the bubbly or at least be more careful. Ha. Ha.
ps. I do like my Manhattans sweet with extra cherries.
luv ya mama