Bob

Batz

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September 4, 2009

A Second-Hand Treasure Trove . . . in Black

My first wife Sally and I have this hobby, see.

Several times a year we go shopping at second-hand stores in our neck of the woods. We adore those brightly lighted and dusty little shops.

She looks for bargains on clothing, furniture and jewelry. I try to find books and items to add to my collection of firefighting memorabilia.

Some days we buy all sorts of interesting things. Other days we come home empty-handed.

We usually begin our rounds of used-everything stores early on a Saturday morning. Often we don’t return home until evening.

My best buys over the years have included a first-edition copy for Jack Kerouac’s marvelous beat generation novel On the Road for a buck, and a Detroit Lions (my favorite team) sweater that was issued long before the Lions set a National Football record last season by losing all 16 of their games.

Sally’s favorite finds have included dresses with the price tags still attached, vintage picture frames and all sorts of toys for the grandkids.

Our last outing was particularly rewarding. She bought several clothing items and I found a long- out-of-print firefighting novel, two vintage neckties and a plaid sport coat.

After arriving home with several plastic bags filled with our purchases, we sat down in the living room to inspect the treasures.

I showed her my book and tried on the sport coat that fit me like a proverbial glove. Then it was Sally’s turn to remove her stuff.

First she took out the black shoes that fit her perfectly. Then she tried on two black dresses, a black sweater and a black scarf. Like my sport coat, they all fit her as if they were made for her.

Then it hit me.

“Hey,” I said, “is there . . . um . . . any reason all of the clothing items you purchased today are . . . um . . . black? You’re not expecting to go to a . . . um . . . funeral any time soon, are you?”

Sally, still holding her black scarf in one hand and her black sweater in the other, stared at me for a second or two, then she burst into laughter.

Before long, both of us were giggling like school kids.

Contact Bob at bbatz@woh.rr.com                

© 2009 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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