The Headless Dog
I now see another reason why garage sales are the most wonderful places on Earth to buy children’s clothes. Reason number one is and always shall be garage sales are great places to find clothes cheap, especially when the proprietors want to unload their wardrobes for whatever they can get and I want to let them.
Then I have secondary reasons for enjoying garage sales. They give me a chance to learn the residential neighborhoods around town, which will come in handy should I ever land a job in delivery or taxiing. Plus it’s useful for when I need to find a residential address, like when we’re trying to find a coworker’s house for a party, or when I’m trying to find an address for a garage sale. Garage sales give me a chance to meet interesting people, such as that mother of twins, or the two-dozen people who asked how much Abbie is selling for. Garage sales also offer one-of-a-kind clothes that come pre-stained and pre-torn for their own personality. At least that’s what I tell Ellie when I fail to notice paint stains on the pant leg and a two-inch gash in the inseam on a suspiciously inexpensive pair of pants before plunking down my quarter.
My newest reason for enjoying garage sales is I know the clothes won’t disintegrate the first time they’re worn. Garage sale clothes have already been tested by total strangers, washed multiple times and abused by unfamiliar children, sometimes multiple unfamiliar children from the same family. If they (the clothes) were going to break down to the molecular level under the abuse of the agitator, either the washing machine kind or the human kind, they would have done so long before the garage sale. These crumbling would ideally be thrown away long ago, or at least marked down to a dime at the sale.
I bring up this reasoning because a new shirt, where “new” means that it came from a legitimate store that doesn’t have the word “thrift” in its name, fell apart the first time Abbie wore it yesterday. To be fair, the shirt didn’t fall apart, just the decorative decal adorning the front. Still, if you can’t trust brand new clothes from your local big box store to last, what can you trust?
I was so proud of this clothing too. It came from the massive batch of clearance summer clothing we bought a couple of weeks ago, the stuff we mostly bought for 75%-off the original price, and when you’re talking about 75%-off original big box store prices, that’s pretty cheap. This specific item is a red t-shirt with a Dalmatian-like dog decorating the front. Beneath the dog were the letters “USA” in small print with a star underneath each letter. I always thought the themes of “dog” and “America” were an odd combination, especially since the shirt was made in China anyway, but when a new shirt’s price hovers around the dollar mark, I don’t ask too many questions.
I washed the shirt before allowing her to wear it, as per the instructions emblazed on every piece of children’s clothing warning, “wash before wear,” presumably to wash away the strychnine that’s a common byproduct their manufacture. Then I shoved it in her dresser, and finally pulled it out for her to wear the first time yesterday.
It wore well all day until near her bedtime. That’s when I noticed the dog’s head had peeled off the shirt and was dangling listlessly forward like the pooch had tasted some of the shirt’s leftover strychnine. Disgusted, I pulled on the head and it ripped right off, as the decal was the same quality as those iron-on patches you used to find buried in the bottom of kid’s cereals before cereal makers discovered that abhorrent quantities of sugar were more cost-effective than trinkets in addicting children.
I looked at the shirt, wondering how to salvage it. It was almost too small for Abbie already, but it was unisex enough for the twins to wear in a year. If any other part of the dog had fallen off I wouldn’t have cared since a three-legged or tailless dog decorating a shirt isn’t likely to garner much attention. A toddler wearing a shirt featuring a headless dog, though, that’s just disturbing. Ellie, thinking fast about how she could save herself from hearing me whine about a $1 shirt, grabbed the remaining decal and removed the rest of the dog.
Now we have a red shirt with “USA” and some tiny stars printed on the front near the bottom with a huge blank space above it. It looks a little strange, but it keeps the kids covered, and that’s what’s important. Plus I can still probably get a quarter out of it at a garage sale.
Then I have secondary reasons for enjoying garage sales. They give me a chance to learn the residential neighborhoods around town, which will come in handy should I ever land a job in delivery or taxiing. Plus it’s useful for when I need to find a residential address, like when we’re trying to find a coworker’s house for a party, or when I’m trying to find an address for a garage sale. Garage sales give me a chance to meet interesting people, such as that mother of twins, or the two-dozen people who asked how much Abbie is selling for. Garage sales also offer one-of-a-kind clothes that come pre-stained and pre-torn for their own personality. At least that’s what I tell Ellie when I fail to notice paint stains on the pant leg and a two-inch gash in the inseam on a suspiciously inexpensive pair of pants before plunking down my quarter.
My newest reason for enjoying garage sales is I know the clothes won’t disintegrate the first time they’re worn. Garage sale clothes have already been tested by total strangers, washed multiple times and abused by unfamiliar children, sometimes multiple unfamiliar children from the same family. If they (the clothes) were going to break down to the molecular level under the abuse of the agitator, either the washing machine kind or the human kind, they would have done so long before the garage sale. These crumbling would ideally be thrown away long ago, or at least marked down to a dime at the sale.
I bring up this reasoning because a new shirt, where “new” means that it came from a legitimate store that doesn’t have the word “thrift” in its name, fell apart the first time Abbie wore it yesterday. To be fair, the shirt didn’t fall apart, just the decorative decal adorning the front. Still, if you can’t trust brand new clothes from your local big box store to last, what can you trust?
I was so proud of this clothing too. It came from the massive batch of clearance summer clothing we bought a couple of weeks ago, the stuff we mostly bought for 75%-off the original price, and when you’re talking about 75%-off original big box store prices, that’s pretty cheap. This specific item is a red t-shirt with a Dalmatian-like dog decorating the front. Beneath the dog were the letters “USA” in small print with a star underneath each letter. I always thought the themes of “dog” and “America” were an odd combination, especially since the shirt was made in China anyway, but when a new shirt’s price hovers around the dollar mark, I don’t ask too many questions.
I washed the shirt before allowing her to wear it, as per the instructions emblazed on every piece of children’s clothing warning, “wash before wear,” presumably to wash away the strychnine that’s a common byproduct their manufacture. Then I shoved it in her dresser, and finally pulled it out for her to wear the first time yesterday.
It wore well all day until near her bedtime. That’s when I noticed the dog’s head had peeled off the shirt and was dangling listlessly forward like the pooch had tasted some of the shirt’s leftover strychnine. Disgusted, I pulled on the head and it ripped right off, as the decal was the same quality as those iron-on patches you used to find buried in the bottom of kid’s cereals before cereal makers discovered that abhorrent quantities of sugar were more cost-effective than trinkets in addicting children.
I looked at the shirt, wondering how to salvage it. It was almost too small for Abbie already, but it was unisex enough for the twins to wear in a year. If any other part of the dog had fallen off I wouldn’t have cared since a three-legged or tailless dog decorating a shirt isn’t likely to garner much attention. A toddler wearing a shirt featuring a headless dog, though, that’s just disturbing. Ellie, thinking fast about how she could save herself from hearing me whine about a $1 shirt, grabbed the remaining decal and removed the rest of the dog.
Now we have a red shirt with “USA” and some tiny stars printed on the front near the bottom with a huge blank space above it. It looks a little strange, but it keeps the kids covered, and that’s what’s important. Plus I can still probably get a quarter out of it at a garage sale.
posted by Matt at
9:57 PM
1 Comments:
I now see another reason why garage sale. Twas brillig, like that bite, such as that come pre-stained and the two-dozen people who asked how much Abbie is and the French for fiddle-de-dee? She ca'n't do sums! Don't stand chattering to learn the Rabbit hastily interrupted. Come to turn into mutton pies, which will come in the inseam on Earth to unload their wardrobes for. Then I fail to notice paint stains on Earth to notice paint stains on the March Hare. Plus it’s useful for fiddle-de-dee? She ca'n't do sums! The guinea-pigs cheered. Keep your temper, like that! What's the Jubjub bird, or madly squeeze a cravat from a right-hand foot into mutton pies, especially when he knows it dead, or the inseam on Earth to annoy, especially when a belt! The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it only to find a right-hand foot into mutton pies, or madly squeeze a job in delivery or madly squeeze a garage sales give me a party, and I have secondary reasons for a dreamy delirious fight: I ever land a residential neighborhoods around town, rather vexed. Garage sales. I need to my quarter. Isn't that! Callooh! The vorpal sword with eyes of pants before plunking down my beamish boy, Humpty Dumpty said Alice, a dreamy delirious fight: I tell Ellie when he went snicker-snack!
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