portrait of a french porcelain purveyor

her first and last name both have four letters and two vowels. she drives up to a shoe warehouse in a district beyond traditional abandonment, so i can pay her $10 in exchange for her grandmother's china. she emerges from her car with two mammoth labrador-poodles on a leash that look, feel, and behave like sheepskin rugs. oh, she always walks her dogs in these empty industrial lots at night, she says. she leaves the engine running and the lights on while she takes her dogs for a stroll around the parking lot, leaving me to examine the plates. oh, this was her grandmother's and she and her husband never used it when they were first married 25 years ago, but doesn't food just taste better when served on beautiful plates? i agree. she walks me to my car, wishes me a safe drive, and beams rays of sunshine at everyone in the parking lot, who are by now enthralled with her dogs. on the drive home i realize that she smells exactly like one of my old piano teachers. she is the reason i want to be 50. on a side note, the china is beautiful.