“Hmmm. handsome boy. Bit flustered but composed. He’ll be a good groom.”
She thought to herself from the vantage point of a few feet above the young man who had just entered.
“Bit pudgy, but more baby-fat than over-indulgence.”
She was heavy-set with the weight of luxury in every fluid ripple as she moved.
A grace that was her birth-right emanated from her being. Clearly, she was a rare and precious thing.
“His skin needs some tending. Obviously not exercising enough. But he’s got bigger things on his mind.”
Her complexion was rich cream. The centuries of craftsmanship that had evolved to create Tina were evident. The smooth finesse of the fabric, the weight of it in the hand, the subtle pattern of the countless threads, provided tangible proof of her superior breeding.
The boy’s mother began the ritual that our mothers have done for millennia – to obtain the correct raiment for her son’s wedding. Always arduous. Always rewarding. Probably the very last time a mother gets to dress her little boy before entrusting the sacred duty of public presentation to another, much younger woman.
The mother discussed with the salesman. He reached for one of Tina’s sisters. A fine choice. A bit brighter than Tina, but well-suited to the boy’s skin color.
She wondered if the boy realized the depth of human endeavor necessary to his fine wedding-day Kurta. That his ancestors had domesticated the cotton plant and perfected its growth, collection, and processing, which then was passed through a thousand hands and machines to create the thread, which then was woven to birth the miles and miles of fabric that covered all of humanity.
Tina smiled as the boy shared a smile with his mom. He was admiring the fabric unfurled in front of him. His imagination leaping past the hours of labor that would have him regally greeting his new bride.