What? This rag?

OK, I have to admit to behavior not becoming a mature person. Dave puts it best. “You just can’t accept a compliment, can you?”

I’ve really tried to improve. It’s hard for me. I was brought up to be self-effacing, to blow off compliments and look modest when someone admires what I’m wearing or something I’ve done.

I’m not sure why, although old photos confirm the worst: We didn’t have a lot of money for clothes and I did indeed look pretty frumpy in my teens. I took up sewing, expecting that was going to ease the problem of clothes.

I wished. I simply never had an eye for colors and textures that look nice together. Like the brown and gold linen wrap-around dress I wore through high school, and the sweater-vest over a plaid blouse that I wore for my high school yearbook picture. Looking back, I’d have to say I had few occasions on which to receive compliments and, even today, I don’t quite know what to do when one comes my way.

My repartee was big on expressions like, “What? This old thing? It must be 30 years old,” or, “Would you believe I found this in a thrift shop in Virginia, and practically stole it?”

Reading the above makes me realize how ungracious I sound. I might as well say, “If you like this thing, you have worse taste than I have.”

It took another woman to make me determined to break this rude habit. Benya participated in a church fashion show I got talked into, at least 25 years ago. A clerk in the dress shop where we chose dresses handed me a limp, colorless rag which magically turned gorgeous when I put it on. I loved it then, and I love it now, and I still wear it fairly often, although I’m sure Benya is the only one who remembers.

I said that to her once, and she chided me gently. “I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t mean it, Sallie,” she said. “To accept a compliment, all you have to do is say, ‘Thank you.’”

I promised to try, and the next time Benya complimented me, I all but choked. “Thank you,” I said, then started to tell her the history of the glittery little shirt I bought for $1.50 at a hospital thrift shop. Before I could tell her what a bargain I had made, she lifted her fingertip to her lips and cut me off cold.

“Did it again, didn’t I?” I said, and she merely nodded. “It’s hard to break a lifetime of bad manners,” I said. She nodded again.

Some major events are coming up this summer, and I’ve felt as though I would enjoy them more if I had something new to wear. It amazes me that many women buy new clothes for every occasion in their lives. I won’t do that, but just this once, I have enough to get through this summer without wearing the same thing twice. For me, that’s stupendous.

The real epiphany is that dressing nicely (and occasionally newly) flatters not me but the object of the celebration.

Now, I didn’t say I’d never brag in my column when I’m pleased with a purchase. I’m only human. I’ll bet our cave-mothers bragged on how she got the new foxtail she is wearing for a scarf, or her latest order on sale in the Sears catalog. It’s in our genes to be appreciated when we look good in our jeans.

So allow me. I believe I told you about the thrift shop in Leesburg, where our daughter Jean lives. The first time I went in there I spotted a nylon shirt that looked like stained glass. I checked the tag: $6. Not bad, I thought, and took it to the cash register. The volunteer looked at the tag and pronounced that the shirt had been marked down to half price. Well, I thought, that’s really not bad.

Somehow, by the time it was being smoothed out on the counter, it took another 50-percent hit. The cheaper it got, the better that shirt looked, and I wear it regularly.

Spent the last couple weeks with Jean and family, and finally found a moment to get into the thrift shop. I had noticed some pretty dishes in the window.

There are a few things for which I’m always on the lookout: Chinese rice bowls; a porcelain duck to replace one the cat knocked over; napkins and placemats; and a sugar bowl for my Pfaltzgraff pattern, Heritage.

And there it was, exactly in front of my right toe. Not just the sugar bowl, but also the cream pitcher and a gravy boat; about five each dinner plates, luncheon plates, cups and saucers, dessert plates. In pristine white.

Since I didn’t need it all, I asked and was not surprised that they declined to break up the set. There are about 40 pieces altogether, and the price was $40. The sugar bowl and lid would have cost that much in retail.

And wait ’til Benya sees the embroidered…

Never mind. She’ll have to notice it first.