Relief on a hot summer day changes a life.
Image Courtesy of Lindsey Richards Barnes.
Some of us still remember the first time we felt womanly. Maybe it’s the first time you wore heels that were yours, not your mama’s that you were using for dress up games. Maybe it’s the first time you successfully baked something and showed it off to your family. Maybe it was winning an argument, or getting a top grade at school. Perhaps it was even your first kiss from a boy, a milestone to recognize for sure.
Let me tell you about the first time I felt womanly. Of course, it’s not like the stories I just mentioned. As always, I had to be different. I was 8 years old. It was a super hot day and I remember feeling that my sundress was sticking to my back like someone had tossed a wet towel across my shoulders. It was a Saturday and Mama and I were in Richmond, Virginia, doing our weekly shopping. I loved weekly shopping but the car wasn’t air conditioned, the store A/Cs were struggling to keep up with the August heat that shimmered when you looked outside and I had on a dress that felt heavy with sweat. I was wading into the cranky pool, heading for a hissy fit of major proportions, when Mama suggested we take a break.
Mama pulled me into Woolworth’s, where the air conditioning was trying its very best but wasn’t quite keeping up. It felt way better than outside, though, and that’s a win. We found a table under a rickety ceiling fan. I remember someone coming over to the table and Mama ordering two lime rickeys. I had no idea what she was ordering but I was interested. If something sounded exotic to me, I always wanted to try it. A lime rickey was going to be my new favorite thing even though I had no idea what it was, especially because I had no idea what it was.
The waitress brought over a tray with two of the most glorious-looking beverages that I’d ever seen. The drinks were tall, in a glass so cold it was dripping, crammed full of ice and slices of lime. It had a fancy, bendy straw, and here’s the most luxurious part, a slice of lime balanced on the lip of the glass. It was the most beautiful beverage I’d ever seen.
The waitress gave my mom her drink first then turned to me and said, “For you, madame.” I was recognized. I was somebody. I was a “madame.” I was so excited! Until that moment, I had always been a “please be quiet, the grown-ups are talking” person. Now I was a madame. That had to mean something, right?
For the first time, I felt I was a little more equal than I had been just a few minutes before. I felt grown-up. I was sitting at a table, drinking the most elegant, delicious beverage ever concocted, and I felt like I was important. Boy, did my chest puff out and my nose tilt up ever so slightly. I’m important. When we were done, the waitress made it even better when she asked me, “Was everything to your liking, madame?”
Was it to my liking? I was beaming. It was perfect. The citrusy, icy, refreshing lime rickey on a hot, humid summer’s day made me into something I had never been, worthy. I was worthy of adult attention, I was worthy of being listened to, I was worthy of being treated well. I felt like Audrey Hepburn in “My Fair Lady.” I was welcome in polite, lime rickey-drinking society. When the waitress came back to ask if we wanted anything else, I informed her that the service had been excellent. I don’t think I threw in a “cheerio, my friend” but it was hanging in the air. I was a changed person. I was now a madame. I was now a lime rickey-loving woman. Hear me roar!
The story above first appeared in our July / August 2024 issue.
