But every local bride, kitchen-savvy or graduating merely from her Mama’s maid QueenElla, who had practically raised her, to her own hired woman Delaweese---welcomed and expected a pair of the cute little Dish Britches made by Miss Yvonne Cain. Not Miss Yavonne or even Miss Evvaahn---Miss Y-Vonn was her name, emphasis on the WYE. She and her Mama were forever companions, living not quite the austere widow-and-spinster lives one would assume, but keeping a good table belied by her Mama’s delicate frame, and confirmed by her own handsome figure, wide of peplumed hip and the button-waisted serge suits she wore to school every day. They motored about the county to little occasions and clubs and meetings in that big Fifties Packard, smooth as it ran when her Daddy bought it nine days after
The Dish Britches, set apart a bit by the jaunty tilt of the little flat box, open for display, and slanted a bit into its lid for best effect. They were just as cute as cute could be, and important, somehow, for everybody got them. It was a mark of belonging, I think, like an innocent little small-town version of a bid at Rush.
Nine-tenths of the married women there had received a pair, and any single girl there, no matter her age, expected to someday. You just DID. They were as much a part of the wedding festivities as the gathering-to-make-rice-bags and picking out the silver pattern.