One Fish, no Water!

A friend of mine said he was a hick as was his son. For some reason, he seemed to think that was a bad thing. In fact, he sorta apologized and made sure I knew he was talking about himself and not talking about me. I informed him that I considered myself a hick and that I married one. My folks were both born in Oklahoma, but I was born in California. My dad used to say I was a CIO. California Improved Okie. To this day, it escapes me why being born in California would be an improvement of any kind. I’m proud of my Okie heritage.

Given my option, I’d be living in that beautiful state. Since it hasn’t quite worked out that way, I now call Texas my home, an Okie—one state removed. Ed is a home-grown Texas boy. He hasn’t ever lived anyplace else, like I have. I just had enough sense to stay here after I got stationed in Texas. I moved my mom out here from California and by the time she passed away, she was also a full-blown Texan. And proud of it.

Let me give you a classic example of why I think I’m a hick. We have several huge malls here, but one in particular sticks out in my mind. I don’t go there very often. For one thing, it’s too far to drive, and for another, I feel totally out of place. I walked into Saks Fifth Avenue there one day years ago and I was afraid they were going to kick me out.

It’s a VERY upscale mall. Lots of little shops, selling things for a LOT of money, with very “classy” people walking around. You know the type—dressed to the nines with slim, tanned bodies that look like they’ve been playing a lot of tennis. I normally look like I’ve been milking cows or weeding the garden. I prefer to think of myself as casually dressed, instead of down-right sloppy. A trait I inherited from my father, not my mother. She refused to leave the house unless she looked ready for a photo shoot. Neither Daddy nor I thought it necessary to change out of greasy clothes to go buy a car part. We used the “come as you are” concept. Since he didn’t have a son, I was elected to the position and I spent a lot of my time working on cars or hunting or fishing or some other “guy” thing. My sister was doing the “girl” stuff with my mom.

I grew up listening to the “You’re going out looking like that?” comments. Daddy got so tired of having to comb his hair to go to the parts store that he just shaved it all off. I never went quite that far, but it wasn’t a bad idea. I dress decently (by my standards) to go shopping but the only way I would fit in at Saks is if I was wearing my Sunday clothes. Since the one thing I inherited from my mother was her bad feet, no way am I mall walking in high heels.

I hadn’t been to that particular mall in years because I just don’t seem to fit in. God blessed me with a nice round shape and I think one of the prerequisites for entry there is that you must weigh less than 90 pounds. I’m pretty sure I weighed more than that when I was born. But I found myself there one day. I was looking for one thing in particular, from J. C. Penney’s—a store I normally feel relatively comfortable in. Not as much as the dollar store or Wal-Mart, but I like Penney’s.

Since I wasn’t too sure of where they were located, I limped my way pretty much from one end of the mall to the other. If you’ve ever had a heel spur, you’ll understand why I was limping. At the other end is where I finally found a store directory. Bear in mind that the other end of the mall from where I parked was approximately 30 miles. That might be a slight exaggeration, but I don’t think so. I stopped to check the directory because I just couldn’t find Penney’s. Probably because they were no longer in the mall. So I made my way back to the car, thinking a few very uncharitable thoughts in my head. On the way back, I passed a directory I had missed, which will show you how this mall is. I guess they don’t want you to know where stuff is, so they hide the directories. I think they figure that if you have to ask where you can buy a gold-plated, diamond encrusted toothpick…you have no business being in their mall.

I know you think I’m exaggerating again. Well, maybe just a little bit. But this mall is chock full of tiny stores that sell just about anything you want. Unless it’s sold at Penney’s, of course, in which case you’d be out of luck. You can get chocolate at the “we only sell chocolate” shop, wine at the “we only sell wine” shop and sit down and smoke a cigar at the “we only sell cigars” shop. By the way, you can buy all three of those things at Wal-Mart if you’re so inclined, but you’d miss the ambiance.

About 25 years ago, my mom and I went to that mall. Which means you had two fish out of water in one location. Even with her nice outfit and coiffed hair, she just didn’t fit in. We were trying to find a really nice dress for me to wear to a special function. So we went into a little shop. That’s where we came up with a new rule for life. If they ask you to sit down, offer you wine to drink, and tell you they’ll bring you dresses to look at…RUN! I found a really nice one, but if I’m going to spend $680 for a dress, it’s going to be one I can wear more than once. And preferably be buried in. If you spend that much for a dress, you can’t ever wear it again, because people will remember. So we left. Over their objections, of course. They were determined I would buy something, even if it was something I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Might be because their business appeared to be fairly slow. I wonder why? Had we actually partaken of all the wine they were trying to push on us, we’d have been too intoxicated to notice the prices. I’m pretty sure I ended up buying one at Penney’s or Sears. They both have very nice drinking fountains, by the way.

I was thinking about that experience as I was walking around the mall. Or dodging around the mall, as people at kiosks were always trying to spray something smelly on me. Since I’m partial to the smell of nice powder-scented underarm deodorant and not their odors, I thankfully managed to escape unscathed. I think what struck me more this time than the other times I had visited was the decadence of the place. There’s just too much there. And it’s all got a pretty hefty price tag on it.

If you’re looking for something unique (that’s polite talk for downright strange,) then this mall is the place to go. I think walking through it made me realize exactly how much of a hick I really am. Like I need a reminder. My husband just came in and mentioned he ran into his twin cousin. For the zillionth time, I told him there wasn’t such a thing. If you’re wondering, that means he had a cousin born on the same day he was. In small-town Texas where he’s from, that equates to a twin cousin, I guess. Even Okies don’t use that expression. Nor do we say, “Six of one, a dozen of another” like he does. But I digress. We’ll save the Edisms for another day.

Americans have gotten too used to opulence. I think if you do some serious shopping in places like that mall, you go straight to Hell, without passing “Go” and collecting $200. Surely that isn’t what Father had in mind for us to spend our money on, is it? I mean it’s really hard to walk through there without thinking about the cost of things. I saw a beautiful vase in a store window that I could buy pretty much for a month’s salary. I think a better deal would be to spend that money on feeding a family of ten in Botswana for a couple of years. It would equate to the same amount of money.

Sometimes I wonder what I did to be so lucky to be born in America. We have everything. I wonder how God chooses who He’s putting where. I thank Him on a regular basis for letting me be born here. And I repay Him by doing what I can for others. And shopping on the South side of town, where I’m comfortable. It’s full of hicks at my favorite mall. There’s a Penney’s and a Sears there. No Saks Fifth Avenue. Nobody that looks like they just got off a tennis court. And no mall bouncers who look like they know you don’t belong and want to see your passport for entering their country or they’re throwing you out. No, it’s full of real people, dressed like they just got off work, with a few unruly kids in tow. Smiling at you and making you feel like you belong.

That’s what I’m looking forward to in Heaven. One shop, full of everything I need. No sore feet from walking 30 miles and it’ll be full of people who are glad I’m there. Not critically appraising me and wondering if I belong in their world. Until then, I’ll continue hanging out on the Southside, with the rest of the hicks. My definition of a hick? Someone who is unpretentious, loves you as you are, and doesn’t spend a lot of time judging you. At least when I hang around with hicks, I don’t have to worry about driving home drunk from trying to buy a dress.