Innergiggler's Blog

Posts Tagged ‘Macy’s


By Linda Lichtman

Mom and I are off to a big girl day, even though I’m only five years old.  Excited I hold onto her hand with all my might because we’re walking across Brighton Beach Avenue to the “EL”.   It’s my first big train trip and I’m surprised by the huge number of people walking in every direction, bumping into each other and pretending they didn’t notice.  I can’t imagine where all these people could possibly live. Mom told me I’d been a worrier since birth.

We walk up the long stairs of the subway and mom tells me we’re standing in front of the biggest store in the world, Macy’s.  As we cross 34th Street, Mom puts her arms around me and directs me toward a booth behind which a man wearing a red and white striped hat and jacket is standing.  Mom softly directs him:

“Two hotdogs please.”

“Would you like mustard and relish on your dog, cutie?”

Mom quickly answers, “Mustard on mine and both for my daughter and a coca cola.”

Although it’s very cold, we remain outside of the frankfurter stand, chomping and drinking away.  I offer mom some of my drink but she shakes her head and makes a funny face, then continues sipping on her waxy cup of water.  She always says no to foods she thinks might make her fat.

After swallowing the last delicious bite, we wave to the hotdog man and walk inside the Macy’s store.   “Wow!  Look at all the beautiful lights – red, blue, pink, orange hanging all over the store.  Mom, I bet this is the happiest place in the world.  Is someone getting married?”

“No sweetheart, these decorations are for a holiday called Christmas – celebrated by non-Jews in honor of their Lord Jesus.”

I don’t understand the word “Lord” and am now confused, but then I remember dad telling mom something about our landlord who owns our building.   Now we’re walking past a display of a tiny family around a baby.  Mom pointed to it explaining “that” is Baby Jesus lying in his mother’s arms.  I think that’s very sweet, but I don’t understand why people are celebrating a little baby.

Once the elevator door opens to the second floor, I stop breathing.  I only have a few toys at home – games, dolls, but here – on the second floor of Macy’s – there must be a million toys.  If these are all for baby Jesus, I want to be his friend.  I want to go to his house, small as it was, and play with him every single day.  I will even change his diaper the way I’ve done for my little brother Mitchell.  Well, I don’t actually do the “change” but I help Mom so I know how.

“Mom, do all these toys belong to the Lord baby?”

“No.  Not really.  He gets them to children when they celebrate his birthday. “

“What people?”

“Christian people.  Non-Jews”

“I wanna celebrate baby Jesus! I wanna be a non-Jew.  I love baby Jesus!  Mom, who’s that big fat man?”

“That’s Santa Claus.  He lives in the North Pole and stops by every Christmas, bringing toys for certain children who had been very good.”

I stop and start thinking back over the week and ask:  “I was good Mom.  Wasn’t I good?”

“Yes, you were terrific.  Why don’t we get on that long Santa line so you can tell him what you’d like for Christmas. “

“And he’ll give me that present to take home?”

“Not today, but on Christmas morning.”

“Are we going to stop being Jewish?  Say yes mom, please!”

“Just for one day.  Santa makes an exception for Jewish children who were extremely helpful to their moms.”

Mom held my hand while we waited in line.  I watch Santa carefully as he holds babies, talks to kids, makes comments to parents, and then puts his arm out for the next in line.  Now I’m worried.  What if Santa doesn’t like me?  Should I tell him I’ve never been non- Jewish for Christmas before?  What should I ask for?  Am I allowed to ask for more than one thing, mom?”

“Did you ever meet Santa before?” She shakes her head no.

“What about daddy?  Does he know Santa? “

“Next in line.”

Mom pushes me toward Santa and he puts his arm around me, “Would you like to sit on my lap little girl?”

“No.  Mommy always tells me not to let strangers touch me.  And I have a question.  If I get non-Jewish for one day – will you bring me a present?”

“Of course”

“Even though I’ve never met baby Jesus?”

“Maybe you can meet him on Christmas morning.”

“Will you take me to his little teeny house?”

“No, you’ll have to ask your mommy to take you to visit him.  Now, what would you like me to bring you?”

“I would like my own room.  I sleep in the same room as my little brother and he’s always crying.   And also, could you get daddy a job during the day so mommy isn’t so lonely at night?”

“How about a nice new doll?” Santa spits through his beard.

“I already have a doll, thank you.”

“That’s very nice.”

Now Santa is waving for the next girl in line so I quickly grab his right thigh and slip in a request.

“How about some trains?  My brother and I would love to play with some choo choos.  Maybe one train could have a whistle.  And maybe some doll clothes and some money so my dad doesn’t have to drive a taxi all night to pay the rent.”

After finishing, I pause wondering if I’d asked for too much.

“Oh, I forgot something Santa.  Mom said to say thank you.”

Christmas Eve finally arrived.  Although I want to stay up all night to see if Santa had heard me, I’m just too sleepy.  But the next morning I wake up, run into the living room and I see a huge wooden crate filled with trains and tracks.  I think it’s strange that the trains didn’t come in a box and that there was nothing to unwrap.  But I’m so happy to have a train set, I hardly notice that the trains don’t look brand new.  Mitch and I are spending every day playing with are trains.  But I do feel a little disappointed that I didn’t actually get to meet baby Jesus.  Maybe next year.

I’ll take a dozen.  Oops!  Not so fast.

Inspired by my avid commitment to research – I decided it was time to investigate what some used to call a “naughty store.”  I’ve been contemplating this trip for awhile, and today is the day.  But as I approach the parking lot entrance I’m re-considering this up close and personal visit based on my sloppy self (après gym).

Maybe I should go home/ shower/ shave/make-up or better yet, do the investigative study next week or month.  I’m sure 2012 will also be an orgasmic year.  On the other hand – I want to be bold, brash, audacious – a woman of substance.  Yet, maybe I’d feel more comfortable if I lost 30 pounds first. 

“To hell with confidence!”   I make a right turn into their parking lot.

Head held high – I approach and open their heavy glass door, thankfully escaping a hernia – then march inside like a storm trooper – who exudes poise, assertiveness, self-love – but still I open with a joke  “Am I going to be carded?”  The store manager smiles and asks if I need help with my shopping.   She may not be able to interpret my answer through the incessant stuttering, but instinct tells her to point to the back area of the store.

My mouth automatically drops open in surprise – but my instinct tells me to close it quickly.  The west wall area contains a massive number of pulsating, quivering, perhaps throbbing possibilities in all different shapes, sizes and – colors – so many colors.  Suffering from Erectile Dysfuntion?  Forget Cialis – you don’t even have to show up.  Just send one of these massive, girth-expanding phallic prototypes to your partner then go play a round of golf.  You’re not needed.

Talk about penis envy!  Actually I won’t.  But there’s more than Dick Tracy here – they should call the store Orifice Plus!  The only missing open tissue connection so far as I can see is the ear – and that’s probably because I’m not wearing my Contacts and my glasses are in the car.

I continue my exploration – picking up devices, putting them down – sometimes very quickly.  I check the prices and then grab my wallet.  Small store robbery?  Orgasms are expensive!   I dare you to pop your cork for under $75 and you can fancy up for $150.  The smaller, cheaper devices are perhaps better suited to whisking crumbs off your shirt than sending you on a trip to the land of Anais Nin

I’m watching folks as they just mosey around – like they were shopping in freakin’ Macy’s.  Just taking their time, no embarrassing rush necessary. These tourists are younger, obviously more relaxed and comfortable in their sexual skin. I’m loving watching couples comparing the apparatus, chatting, giggling. 

And the longer I am in the store, my rapid heart beat seems to be relaxing.  I pick up a few items and bring them over to the smiling sales lady.  Without a prompt she picks each one up, demonstrates their strong points – verbally.  She makes a strong recommendation, even though it isn’t the more expensive item.  Her name is Melissa and she is really sweet.  I’m almost totally comfortable now so I offer her my credit card with my very own name.  For research purposes of course.   I’m making a few more jokes, but not out of nervousness. 

Melissa is laughing – so I’m giving her my biz card with my blog address.  “I’m writing about this tonite kiddo!”

I boldly, confidently walk out of the store with my plain, black, nameless shopping bag at my side and head straight home to Rob.  Life is good when I allow myself to be – myself!

But he’s still my best friend…

Not to say Rob and I don’t have our personal episodes of Macy’s July 4th Fireworks…

“Stop criticizing my driving…you’re gonna make me have an accident…”

“If you have an accident it’s because you’re a terrible driver…pull over…”

“Rob…we’re three miles from home…”

“Pull over…I’m getting outta this fucking car before we crash…”

“Great…get out!  I’m changing the locks on our front door…”

And to make his point…he walks home….and gets there before I call a locksmith.

The good news…the above hasn’t happened in quite a while…and…I’m not a terrible driver…Rob’s a stickler for Rules…Rules…and more Rules…and I’m…I’m a bender…

But one facet of Rob I really love…he knows how to be a friend…like when my Mom died…he was my friend…holding me up when I just wanted to lay down and die…he kept me afloat…On a lighter note…when I blow an audition…he’s right there with some comforting words…But the MOST IMPORTANT…AND NECESSARY…when I can’t fit into a pair of pants…”Honey…you always look beautiful to me…”

So when a friend who he hadn’t spoken to in a while called…said his  mom was dying…and asked…”Would you come spend a few days with me…?  Good friend Rob turned his schedule around and is in the process of making it happen.

I’m so proud of my best friend for being a friend…Wait!…You don’t think he’s gay…do you?

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