The Lost Suit

I am a devotee of thrift shops. You will frequently find me skulking up and down isles of Am-Vets, Goodwill, the Salvation Army, St. Vincent de Paul or the Ladies Zionist Guild. It was in thrift-store-ville here amongst the defunct 8-track tapes, the undressed baby-dolls, the 1970’s coffee tables and broken hairdryers that I found the thing which slipped from my grasp.

While checking out the men’s suits I came across something that stood out from the rest. It was a 1960’s era safari suit. Yes, a safari suit. I am talking about a three piece khaki wonder with full sized breast pockets (perfect for storing extra ammo for that elephant gun.) What a thing! I panicked. I was breaking into a cold sweat.

This thing was bursting with a style not sported by anyone since Fred C. Dobbs in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. This was Proffesor Challenger, this was Gunga Din, this was the most bad-ass suit ever fashioned by hands of men.

“What a suit!” I thought to myself. Here it was, the Holy Grail of suits. My first thought was me wearing this three piece while camping in the Adirondacks. Oh other campers would be wearing “shorts” and “t-shirts”, but I, oh, I would be dressed to the hilt and roasting my weenies in style!

Then doubt crept into the back of my mind. What if people think I am some sort of a weirdy walking around dressed like Alan Quatermain. Would my wife take to my new garb with the same enthusiasm as I? Would they be after me with a net? Ought not I really be spending my money on something more useful? Quickly I went from hearing the calls of tropical birds in the treacherous jungle to bad 1970’s soft-rock music on the thrift-store sound system.

I left that suit there that day. I probably went home to watch T.V. and my twelve dollars likely got spent on snack cakes and beer instead of that suit, that cloth big game hunting piece of pure potential adventure.

Lets hope whoever did buy it is using it well today.