This summer, as I said elsewhere, was hot in Prince Edward Island. Bernie had had his hands on a pair of his shorts several times as he was packing, but he didn’t put them in his suitcase. No problem, I said. The local co-op has been enlarged and now have clothes. I’d pick up a pair for him.
I went into the coop and saw a short rack of random clothes. No, that can’t be it. They must have a new room. I pushed by someone and went into a new hallway. I stopped abruptly. A restroom, a storage closet and confusion. I turned and came out. I went to the man who was watching me and asked for the clothes. He pointed to the rack I’d already seen. Thank you, I said.
I knew there would be nothing for Bernie: they were all tight, shiny shorts with white slashes on them. A few generations past my husband’s taste.
No problem, I said to Bernie once I was home. There’s the second-hand store. The next day we braved the second-hand place. Of course it wasn’t called second-hand. Now I can’t remember the name but probably something like: “For You! Pre-Selected Clothes!” Anyway it was a lot of clothes, several rooms full. Who needs new?
I asked for help as I couldn’t make any sense out of the racks and the owner led us to the men’s shorts. Bernie pulled out a pair of beautiful pale grey shorts. Real shorts, old-fashioned shorts. And– there was the original price tag on it! Never been worn! He needed a belt too and we, I was as happy as a clam- one of those the diggers don’t get.
Once home he tried them on and they fit perfectly and looked great.
I’m still amazed at our luck.