It’s been a busy week – but my to-do list is getting shorter!
One of the things on that list was to hit a few thrift stores for those last minute additions to the kid’s suitcases for their week away – a couple of t-shirts, some shorts, and a couple pair of capris.
Dagmar and I headed to Grant City to check out our favorite one there, arriving soon after they opened the doors for the day.
We had just started our search through the racks when an older lady came in carrying a sack and looking a bit frantic.
“Dorothy!” she said, “Have you sold that bag of clothes I brought in before?”
Dorothy (the lady working that afternoon) replied, “No, I don’t think so – I think they’re still sorting it out in the back – why?”
“Wilbur put the wrong bag in the car!” (She held out the bag she was carrying) “We brought home all the clothes that didn’t fit and donated the bag with his best clothes in it! He tried to put his pants on this morning and he could barely close them!” our frantic woman said as she moved quickly through the store to the back room.
I was still speechless with surprise over this outburst, when, just a few minutes later an older gentleman came in slowly wearing some very tight pants, his rather large tummy hanging over the waistband.
Poor guy could hardly breath – it had to be Wilbur.
Dorothy just pointed to the back room, smiling.
We could all hear the excited voices of his wife – the frantic woman – as she feverishly pawed through the donated bags in the back room.
We all heard her shouts of joy when the lost bag was recovered.
We all watched her triumphant exit from the thrift store with the correct bag in hand – followed rather slowly by her husband Wilbur who still looked as though a deep breath would burst a seam.
Then and only then did I laugh.