Miniskirts and Grandma

My mother Sybil Miner Beck and I would take my grandmother Rebecca Rugg Miner for her doctor’s appointments. Mom would drive and I would tag along for Grandma to hang onto when she walked. She did okay at home, but sometimes curbs and steps without a railing gave her problems. She was bow legged from arthritis and her hands and feet were gnarled and misshapen from rheumatism. Gram walked by herself, but sometimes when she was out she needed an arm on which to lean or to have a steadying hand.

When her doctor’s appointment was over Mom would drive us to a nearby restaurant for lunch. Grandma looked forward to having a meal where she didn’t have to cook or do the dishes afterward. Grandma Becky still wore opaque “flesh-colored” cotton stockings that were held up by elastic garters. Her black shoes were tied and had short clunky heels. The hems of her dresses were always mid calf or lower. Although her joints were old and gnarled, her hair was still shiny black with only a strand or two of silver even into her late seventies.

We chose a booth near the door and settled in when the waitress came over and asked what we would like to drink, delivering our menus. After she walked away, I could see Grandma reaching under the table and pulling at the hem of her skirt. She studied her menu, but would often tug on her dress. She wasn’t comfortable that her knees were showing. The young waitress returned to take our orders while standing at our table. We ordered. She tucked her pad and pen into an apron pocket, gathered the menus, and hurried away to the kitchen.

By that time, Grandma’s hand had already disappeared under the table. She was again fidgeting at her dress. I knew she’d never be able to relax and eat her meal unless I did something.

Before I say more, I need to describe our waitress. She was attractive with long, straight blonde hair and shapely legs. They were very solid with full calves and thighs. This was the era of mini-skirts, but her skirt bordered on the micro-mini. Earlier when she stood at our table, the hem of her mini-skirt hovered just above the table top.

The next time Grandma’s hand delved beneath the table, I asked, “Grandma, did you see our waitress?”

She looked puzzled but said, “Yes.”

“Did you see what she was wearing?”

Again she replied, “Yes.”

I said, “Did you see her legs?”

Her answer was the same, “Yes.”

“With her walking around in this restaurant, do you think that anyone is going to be looking at your knees?”

We laughed and she settled down to enjoy her meal.