Shopping for Love2019-04-29T13:13:15-04:00

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Shopping for Love

There many lessons to be learned when you are Shopping for Love. Follow a daughter’s poignant tale of life lessons and take a glimpse of an uncertain future that somehow becomes brighter with every trip to the store in this touching memoir.

Shopping for Love tells the story of Levy Lesser’s life through vignettes of her shopping experiences with her grandmother, aunt, and mother over the course of twenty-five years. Shopping was a long-standing tradition in her family. In fact, it became a gift for her mother throughout her long battle with cancer, extending the quality and length of her mother’s life. Interwoven with wit and humor, this tale allows us to see through a daughter’s eyes and her understanding of life and its joys and sorrows.

Laid out in chronological order, each vignette reveals information about family members and imparts important lessons learned along the way. The Devil Wears Prada meets Tuesdays with Morrie in this heartfelt, humorous journey of a daughter coming to terms with her young mother’s mortality, the strength she found in the example her mother set, and the hope they discovered together in the ladies’ dressing room.

Read an Excerpt

“It looks like a slip.” That was Mommy’s reaction to my first real sophisticated dress. “That’s why they call it a slip dress,” I tried to explain to her outside of the dressing room at Knit Wit in Philadelphia. “I don’t know where you are going in that,” countered my mother. That was one of her classic lines. It has stuck in my head to this day. Even if I love something, I will ask myself where I think I am going in it. If I can’t come up with an answer, I can’t get it.

On this day, however, I was fully prepared for that remark and gave her one reason from the list in my head. I told her I had a million (meaning two) fraternity and sorority parties to go to. “All right, you can get it, but we’ll show it to Aunt Jo first just, to make sure.” Yes! I thought. Aunt Jo would love it. She was a bit more hip than my mother, and I wasn’t her daughter, so what did she care if I looked like a complete slut? We stopped at Aunt Jo’s house on the way home. “Fabulous,” she said in her typical excited voice. That was that. Whatever my mother’s sister said was gospel. The Knit Wit slip dress was a keeper.

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