High Heels and Scanties
Yes, we got used to seeing her around the village, buying eggs, picking up her posts. Scanties, high heels, it was Mary, but she was our Mary, and so only newcomers and strangers visiting the Highlands commented about her flimsy and yes, quite, filmy see-through attire.
At those moments she became truly our Mary, our sacred eccentric whom we defended with passion. And so we took her, like the chill and rain up here along the North Sea, in our stride, as our own, as a point of stoic acceptance.
She only violated village code in one respect which we could not forgive. She attended Mass, a Catholic, yes but we had had Papists in our midst before and all seemed good proper subjects of His Majesty, but no, our Mary broke the unbreakable when she attended Mass, not merely in her usual high heels and bra and mesh panties, but without a hat!
One of the other Papists, a lovely lady, offered to bobby-pin a Kleenex to her hair, like the maids and poor sometimes did, but she said no, she said, famously, for it rebounded around the village whenever tales of Mary were told: “It would destroy,” quote she, “my line.”