The Minor Adjustment Beauty Salon by Alexander McCall Smith

remember never to reveal your sources,’ she said. ‘I’m sure that you know all about that in your profession.’
    ‘I understand that,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘And if ever you need a new job, Mma, perhaps you could call me on the telephone…’
    They both laughed. Then Mmakosi said, ‘I hear it’s a boy.’
    ‘That is so, Mma. That’s good news for Phuti Radiphuti – he is the husband – but I always feel it must secretly be a bit disappointing for the mother. You can’t dress boy babies up in the same way as you can dress up girls.’
    ‘That’s changing, Mma. It used to be the case, but these days there are clothes that suit both sorts of baby.’
    ‘They’re putting lace on boys?’
    ‘Not quite,’ said Mmakosi. ‘But that may come. Men are wearing more feminine clothes these days, haven’t you noticed?’
    Mma Ramotswe was not sure whether she had noticed this or not. What were Charlie and Fanwell wearing these days? They were young men of fashion, but all she ever saw them in was mechanic’s overalls. For an absurd moment she saw the two of them in greasy overalls with lace cuffs and necks. And Mr J. L. B. Matekoni also in overalls with a delicate lace trim along the edge, perhaps with only a trace of grease here and there…
    ‘You’re smiling, Mma?’
    The ridiculous image faded. ‘I was thinking. My husband’s a mechanic, as you know, and his clothes are… Well, they are the sort of thing that men wear. They don’t like fussy clothes, as a general rule.’
    ‘Of course, Mma,’ said Mmakosi. ‘I understand that very well. My own husband is like that. His head is full of football, and there is no room for clothes.’ She paused. ‘Mind you, Mma, there is a course, you know. They have a course for men called the Modern Husband course. Have you heard of it?’
    ‘I have not, Mma. It sounds interesting.’
    ‘It is very good. I hear they teach men how to cook, or at least to think about cooking.’
    Mma Ramotswe’s attention was immediately engaged. ‘That sounds very useful.’
    ‘And then they have lectures on clothes and how to look smart. Then – and this is very important – there is part of the course called “How to make your wife feel special”. They teach them about buying presents for ladies and how to remember your wife’s birthday.’
    Mma Ramotswe laughed. ‘Men could write the date on a piece of paper and put it on the wall. Or they could have a book that had dates like that – birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and so on.’
    ‘They could do all of that,’ agreed Mmakosi. ‘But do they, Mma? Would men remember their wedding anniversary if we didn’t tell them? I do not think they would.’
    It was true, thought Mma Ramotswe. There were many things that men did not do, or only did because there were women there to remind them to do it. Some men, she believed, were almost entirely dependent on their wives and had to be reminded, perhaps, to breathe… ‘Remember to breathe,’ the wife might say as the husband left the house in the morning. ‘In, out. In, out. That’s it.’
    ‘This course, Mma? Where is it?’
    ‘I read about it in the newspaper, Mma. I forget where they said it would be. They were hoping to hold it again because it had been a great success the first time round.’
    ‘I shall look out for it,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘But now, Mma, there is the more pressing question of what to get for this new baby of Mma Makutsi’s.’
    ‘Come this way,’ said Mmakosi.
     
    Mma Ramotswe left Mmakosi’s shop with a parcel that was far too small to contain a soft toy – a stuffed lion, or elephant, or even a stuffed anteater. It was a neat rectangular package in which, wrapped in coloured tissue paper, nestled a pair of child’s shoes, size zero. These were made of soft leather, dyed red, with bright blue laces, and had been chosen by Mmakosi herself, who had convinced Mma Ramotswe that they were an ideal present for the young Radiphuti.
    ‘That