“The doctor says she needs to wear a full body girdle after her surgery. She has one, but here they are made of rubbery material. You can imagine how uncomfortable that will be. Could you get her one while you’re in Canada?” asks my neighbor.
“Sure,” I say. We’ll be home for only a couple of days to do some business, but I can squeeze in a trip to the store. “How do I know what size?”
“I’ll get you the one she has to take with you.”
My aunt and I go girdle shopping and find two we think will work. Back in Mexico I deliver the girdles. I find Papa and a couple of her brothers in the street in front of the family restaurant. I ask for her, but she’s not home so I pass the bag to Papa.
He pulls out a girdle and holds it up against his ample belly, then holds it at arm’s length and pulls it this way and that to test the elastic. I glance up and down the street, but, thankfully, no one seems to be paying him any notice. But then, why am I surprised at that? Life in Mexico is often lived in the street.
Papa and the brothers have a lengthy discussion of the pros and cons of my purchase, check out the second girdle and finally deem them suitable. Papa sends one of the brothers to the till to get the money to pay me.
I never do meet her to ask if the girdles were a good fit. I can only hope.