No, not that
kind of fantasy. I’m talking about daydreams here, the stuff that creeps into
your head when you’re waiting at a red light and there’s nothing riveting on
the radio to distract you from your thoughts.
Here’s one of mine and if you share one of yours in
the comments, I might just send you a copy of my latest book, Return.
It’s no secret that I love to shop second-hand. I
have ever since I was a kid, and the impulse only strengthened once I got my
own car and could stop at any garage sale that caught my eye. So for nearly
thirty years I’ve been hitting the mismatched racks and cluttered tables of
thrifts. It’s hit or miss and always has been. Sometimes I lament the lack of
cool vintage stuff that I found with ease years ago, but I’m really grateful
for like-new kids clothes now, so the trade-offs seem worth it.
So, on to my fantasy.
I’m in a thrift store, medium-sized with good
lighting and a clean floor (this is a fantasy, after all). I start going
through the racks and nothing falls off the hangars as I pull and check labels.
Nothing good, nothing good, until I hit a possible. Pull it out; a perfect pair
of chinos, right size, no wear, quality manufacturer. The next hangar holds a great
seersucker pair of trousers, and next is jeans I’m sure will fit just right.
I toss everything into the cart and keep going. The
cart’s wheels all work properly and there’s no sticking or squeaking (see, I
warned you it was a fantasy). Next is a red cashmere cardigan, then a couple of
perfect white shirts, a black alpaca scarf, and at the end of the aisle, a
narrow metal mesh belt, exactly what I’ve been in search of for the last year
and a half.
The cart’s filling up and my heart is pounding.
Should I keep looking or accept I’ve had the finds of a lifetime and head to
the counter to pay up while my luck still holds? I’m not much of a gambler, so
I make my way to the front only to be distracted by it; an English trench coat,
just my size, zip-out lining still in place and nothing weird left in the
pockets. Mine!
Now the fear hits me as I approach the display
cases. Will I be able to find some cool piece of jewelry to cap off all my
fabulous fashion? I peer through the glass at trays of plastic stretch
bracelets and trashy necklaces from the state fair midway, sure I’ve used up my
luck for the day. But no, I spy something, the edge of something enameled and
gold-tone. I have to see it. Wonder of wonders, a staff person is actually
there and ready to help and she pulls out what I ask to see with no trouble.
Yes, it’s a vintage Trifari dragon necklace, bright green with angry red beaded
eyes, without a scratch or sign of wear. It’s only five dollars and I
immediately head into line, keeping my eye on the necklace as the clerk carries
it to the person running the register.
Everything rings up correctly and I have enough
money to pay (again, fantasy). I experience that thrill of discovery and possession that I
imagine is hardwired in a hunter-gatherer’s psyche. Instead of finding the best
berry patch or tender-fleshed mammoth, I’ve gotten some stylish clothes for
ninety percent off retail. We modern human have to take our thrills where we
can.
Next time, maybe I’ll tell you my food fantasy.
Or maybe even one of those fantasies. Remember, leave a comment about your fantasy and your email for a chance to get
a copy of my latest book.
