When I walked into Macy’s at La Cumbre Plaza the other day, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I can’t recall the last time I set foot in an actual department store.

I don’t generally buy clothes online, unless it is something I’ve purchased previously and know what size will fit and look reasonably good on me, but I also don’t often patronize stores such as Nordstrom or Macy’s.

My current go-to shopping spots are Costco and the Community Friends Thrift Store (it’s for a good cause, and I like the idea of extending the life of “pre-loved” clothing).

This time, though, I was shopping for a special occasion — my 60th high school reunion. That’s right, 60. It’s a big number, but who’s counting?

Well, actually, I am. I was originally going to take a pass on attending, but after talking to a couple of friends and classmates I’ve stayed close with over all these years, we realized this might be our last high school reunion, at least one where they don’t combine classes.

On the other hand, there were about 1,000 students in my New Trier Class of 1966, so who knows, there may be enough of us still kicking for a 65th or even 70th get-together. I am nothing if not optimistic.

But, back to the 60th and my “what shall I wear?” dilemma.

The reunion is an early evening affair on a Friday, with a “business casual” dress code, whatever that means. And since it is in the Chicago area in late June, I need to factor in heat, humidity — hair-curling humidity — and air conditioning.

After giving it about five minutes of thought, I decided that instead of spending a lot of money on a new outfit, I would find something that already lives in my closet that can pass as business casual.

After all, no one at this event has ever seen anything I have, so, who knows — maybe I just bought it, or maybe it’s vintage Heller? I trust my secret is safe with anyone reading this column.

I’m going with a black and white skirt, black cotton blouse, and a lightweight raspberry-red jacket. I’ll call it “casual comfortable.”

What I needed to find at Macy’s, though, is what my Mother would have called “unmentionables” — a new bra to be exact.

Too much information? Sorry, but bear with me because I am getting back to my department store experience.

So I walk into Macy’s and head for the escalator. Since I haven’t taken a Dramamine, I steer clear of the store’s nausea-inducing glass elevator.

“Unmentionables,” or “Intimate Apparel,” as it is listed on the roster of Macy’s Women’s Apparel departments, is on the third floor.

I ride up the escalator and walk to the far end of the store, where I am greeted by racks and racks of bras — plain, lacy, underwire, no underwire, sports bras, push-up in white, ecru, pink, blue, black … so many choices.

Cheapskate that I am, my sale radar kicks in and I zero in on the reduced-price lingerie. Alas, though, it looks like nothing at all is left in my size. Rats!

Just as I’m about to give up in frustration, my fairy godmother (I think sales associate is currently the correct term) swoops in out of nowhere and lands by my side.

She has a kind face, shoulder-length grayish hair, and is wearing a conservative skirt and blouse, and sensible shoes. No wand that I could see, though.

“Can I help you with anything?” she asks.

Amazed at the sudden personal attention, all I can blurt out is: “Find me a bra in my size — and something with a little lift.”

I said this with no hint of self-consciousness. When you’ve been around long enough to attend your 60th high school reunion, there’s not much that can make you feel embarrassed.

I hope I said “please.”

The lovely woman, who obviously knew her inventory, combed through several display stands and quickly came up with three contenders in my size.

Eternally grateful for her help, I took them into a dressing room, tried them on and, voila, I had a winner.

When I came back out to the sales floor to return the two unwanted items, I couldn’t find my fairy godmother. Suddenly, though, like before, she magically appeared.

“Did any of those work out?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, smiling triumphantly as I handed her my purchase and credit card.

Look at that, she said as she rang up the item — it’s on sale, almost 50% off.

Guess it was my lucky day.

But it was more than just the bargain bra (and feel free to call me old-fashioned here). The experience reminded me of the personal assistance we used to get — and maybe still do on occasion — when shopping for clothes at a traditional department store.

In some cases, sales associates even knew our names, like a woman who worked at the old Robinson’s store in Santa Barbara. She always greeted me with a bright “Hello, Mrs. Heller” when I entered her department.

I’m still not sure how she remembered my name; I was certainly not that good of a customer, but it did make me feel special. And we all enjoy some extra attention once in a while.

After my recent retail experience at Macy’s, it gives me hope that personal touch is still out there.

In any event, like Cinderella, I am now ready for the ball. I am not looking for my Prince Charming. I already have one of those, but he is staying home in Santa Barbara.

Actually, his 60th class reunion is the same weekend as mine and in a nearby Chicago suburb. But he said he doesn’t want to go because there isn’t anyone with whom he has a strong desire to reconnect.

Or, maybe he just doesn’t know what to wear.

P.S. I might follow up with a Part II post-reunion column. We’ll see how it goes. As Rachel Maddow likes to say: “Watch this space.”