Dear Mr. Sears

Dear Mr. Sears,

I know that it may seem strange for me to be writing you, after all you've been dead for many years, but my friends at the Psychic Network tell me that this may be the only way I'll attract the attention of the store you left behind.

I have been a loyal customer of your store for many years because it supplies two classes of merchandise I cannot live without. I make my living with my hands, and for as long as I can remember I have used your Craftsman tools, they were the best around. Until, that is, a few years ago when some young whippersnapper decided Sears could live on your good name and started making them out of steel that had a close relationship to butter. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mr. Sears, but I now turn to Mr. Stanley for his tools these days. Perhaps you and some of your ethereal friends in the netherworld could arrange to haunt the sucker who decided to make a quick buck off your name.

Although I no longer use your tools I still visit your store regularly. I hope I won't shock you, Mr. Sears, when I tell you why. Your see, sir, after a day making my living with my tools I return home and relax in a way that might perplex a man of the 19th century such as yourself. I remove my rough working clothes and put on a dress, or maybe a blouse and skirt. I doubt you ever considered doing this yourself, but as a man in the retail business I'm sure your philosophy is "the customer is always right". At least your sales staff has always been glad to sell me any article of feminine clothing I desire without so much as snicker. As long as I'm at the counter, and they're very welcome to laugh at me when I leave.

I must admit I have not purchased many dresses or skirts from Sears. Being a large woman until very recently your store did not carry anything in my size, but then until recently American retailers simply assumed all women were smaller than a size 16 so I can't fault your store for that. I hope I won't embarrass you too much when I tell you that I come to Sears primarily to purchase my underwear. Please, Mr. Sears, don't blush. I assure you that people in the 90s (the 1990s, that is) can talk about lady's underwear with perfect propriety. For that matter, some ladies have been known to wear nothing but their underwear (they call them string bikinis) in public and not be arrested. Ogled maybe, but not arrested.

I don't quite know why, but while your store has never carried outerwear in my size they have always carried underwear to fit my large frame. In particular, Sears has always carried stockings to fit me. Since you died before they were invented, you may not know what pantyhose are, so I'll try to explain. Someone decided that having to hook up garters to a stocking on each leg, adjust the straps and snap the snaps was too much work for a modern woman, so they designed a one piece garment that encased legs and torso in nylon mesh (we no longer use silk for stockings, sorry to disappoint you) and called it pantyhose because it serves the purpose of both panties and hose. This is fine for a woman, it makes their life simpler no doubt, but it has it's drawbacks for people such as myself. When I put on a dress I naturally want to wear hose beneath it, and I have a bit of a problem getting pantyhose to fit properly. I'll try to be delicate here, but the problem is not so much as having the pantyhose conform to the bit of anatomy I have and women don't but getting them to conform to my pot belly and stay up. They have a disconcerting tendency to roll up and slide down the curve of my paunch. So I have developed a preference for gartered stockings and Sears has always carried stockings in my size. In fact, Sears is about the only place that still carries stockings since Mr. Ward's establishment went out of business.

I must congratulate the person who came up with the names for the sizes for your stockings. I'm considered statuesque. I like that, it's much better than humongous, and brings to mind a piece of art at out local museum. There is a beautiful statue in white marble in the lobby of a woman in a flowing gown. The carving is exquisite and every detail of her body and garments is captured in timeless wonder for all to see and appreciate. When I put on a pair of your statuesque stockings and buckle my garters, for a moment I am one with that statue: the essence of femininity, at least until I look in the mirror.

But the last few trips to your store have left me bereft, for I have been unable to find new stockings. I'll admit I have been reluctant to ask the sales clerk if they are no longer carrying my stockings, but it appears that I may have to switch to pantyhose when my stock runs out. So please, Mr. Sears, if you have any influence with the modern management of your store, let them know you still want them do so some things in the old fashioned way.

I'd appreciate it.


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