Ms. Martha, Mad Money & Melons

She stands about 4'11".  Her perfect bouffant hairdo, protected by no less than 15 ounces of Aqua Net, is from an era when women dressed up to run even the simplest of errands.  And Ms. Martha still does. Her saccharin sweet southern drawl is only outdone by the scent of Yves Saint Laurent Rive Gauche that fills the shop when she visits and lingers long after she has said goodbye.  I'm fairly certain this woman is Blanche Devereaux's Momma or perhaps a distant relative of Scarlett O'Hara.  

Ms. Martha comes into Paisley Pig twice a month after she has lunch at The Bright Star Restaurant.  As soon as she walks in, she comments on all my plants and flowers that are in front of the shop, and wastes no time informing me which ones need water and which ones I should just let her take home because they would look better in her garden.  This woman is all sass and I absolutely adore her.  

Her typical visit lasts about an hour.  However, half of that time she spends inquiring about my love life (or lack there of).  She reminds me that I'm not getting any younger and that "things are gonna start sagging sooner than later darlin', time is no longer on your side, don't wait too long".  I just smile and pour a glass of vino.  I always offer a glass of wine to Ms. Martha and she politely refuses, waits a few seconds and then says, "oh maybe just one little sip".

Ms. Martha is the last of my customers that still writes a check.  She refuses to use a debit or credit card and says she cannot spend her cash because that's her "mad money".  Trying not to laugh, I asked her why she needs mad money...

"Oh darlin', you just never know when you may need to leave town quickly".

This woman must have stories that would make even me blush.

Ms. Martha placed her items on the counter for me to ring up, and then fumbled through her purse for her check book.  As she began writing her check, she stopped and said, "hells bells, now I have to go by Piggly Wiggly on the way home!"  

"So you don't enjoy grocery shopping?" I asked.

"Oh, it's not that. It's just that I can't go home until I stop and get a few fresh fruits and vegetables or I'll have some explaining to do."

Since there was a line of customers, I chose not to inquire further about the grocery situation, although I was curious.

I took her check and put her items in a bag. It was one of our smaller bags, since Ms. Martha's purchase that afternoon consisted of three pairs of earrings, two of our homemade candles and a picture frame.  

"Now darlin', I'm going to need you to put my things in one of your larger bags." 

I knew better than to ask why she needed a larger bag.  But I was already smiling because I had a feeling that if I asked her why, her answer would be nothing short of hilarious.

"I certainly do not mind giving you any size bag you want, but can I ask why?"

"Look darlin', my husband is a nosy fool and he thinks I'm out grocery shopping right now.  He fusses at me for buying things he thinks I don't need.  One day last year when he was reconciling our checkbook, he asked me why there were so many checks written to the Paisley Pig. I told him to just hush, that the Paisley Pig is part of The Piggly Wiggly.  Now I have that old goat thinking your shop is where I buy our produce. I usually keep a few of your bags in my trunk, that way I just put the "groceries" in there."

Ms. Martha is my hero.

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