When I was a little girl, more important than the bunny or chocolate eggs was the thought of getting a new dress and pair of shoes for Easter.

It was a tradition in our family that we would all wear something new for Sunday church, and of course for a prissy little know-it-all like me, I always wanted an outfit with layers of bows, ribbon and lace.

One year, in addition to the usual notions that I required of my outfits, I decided my Easter dress needed to have a poufy skirt. I did not care if the style was en vogue or not, I had made up my mind as to what I wanted to wear and nothing was going to do except a full skirt with a crinoline slip.

My Mom and I made a trip down to Koury’s Children Shop on Washington Street to look for my Easter dress and with the assistance from one of the sales clerks we sorted through the dresses. Mom pulled out the ones that she liked and a few I thought might work, and after collecting an armload of possible contenders, we were ushered into a small dark dressing room in the rear of the shop to try them on.

I tried on one dress after the other, with mom buttoning and unbuttoning and zipping and unzipping. Things were not looking good, as I was not finding any of the choices to my liking.

Of course, mom and the saleswoman thought I looked cute in several of the designs, but I was having nothing to do with an outfit that did not have a flouncy underskirt.

As I stood in that little cubicle, my heart was beginning to sink. None of the dresses I had tried on were what I had wanted and time was running out on the shopping trip. If I did not hurry and make a choice Mom would do it for me.

As much as I love my mother, we have not always seen eye to eye on my clothing style, and as an elementary-age child, unlike now, I did not have a credit card for control. While we negotiated quietly in the little cubicle, the sales lady must have seen the disappointment in my eyes when I was looking at myself in the mirror wearing a little brown dress that had no bounce. She left and returned with a miracle.

In her hands she was holding a petticoat. It was the prettiest bunch of tulle and satin I had ever seen. I slipped it on under the little brown dress and voila, the perfect Easter outfit. I was too young to have noticed the sales lady’s name, who saved the day for me all those years ago, but I wish I could let her know I will never forget that day.

Happy Easter!

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Terri Frazier is a staff writer at The Vicksburg Post. You may reach her at terri.frazier@vicksburgpost.com. Readers are invited to submit their opinions for publication.