Yankee Pot Roast


Freudian Slip

Miriam N. Kotzin

I was in the lingerie section, fingering the goods. I plunged my hands into a pile of panties, the silk, the silk, the silk... A sales woman in a fuscia cashmere sweater stared. She kept her eyes on my face while I opened and closed my fists over and over again.

“May I help you?” she said.

I kept my hands down in the pile, but I thought to compose myself enough to smile at her. Pause, I said to myself, collect yourself, and oh, the silk, the silk, the silk... and then I said, “No thanks. I’m just lurking.”