Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Pirates of Costco 2: Dead Man's Sweater

Let's face it: when I go out, I turn heads.
I don't mean this as a self-serving statement oozing bravado; I happen to wear a lot of bowties and embroidered western shirts and sharp hats--so I get the attention because clearly I crave it. Occasionally the heads are turning away from me to snicker. . . but that's neither here nor there.

I have this super excellent new curling sweater. Don't take my word for it; take the thousand words that leap to your mind when you look at these photos:

Tonight, at Costco (my first official shopping visit to this mecca) my wardrobe curried unexpected favour from a mother and her daughter.

B- (on the phone with my mother) "Blah blah blah."
A- (a near whisper)"Oh my God!"
B- (still on phone) "War in Iraq! Har har har!"
A- (interrupting) "Excuse me? My father had that exact sweater!"
B- (holding down the phone) "Really? It's a sharp sweater--the old pheasant hunting motif!"
A- "My father's dead. . . but I remember him wearing that sweater so clearly."

She was looking at me with the same dazed wonder a blind man looks at the sun. I, for once in only a handful of times, was at a loss for where to take the conversation. Dead relatives are a tough thing to discuss with strangers.

A- "Where did you get it?"
B- "Oh. . . I got it in Kensington. . . in Toronto."

The daughter piped up:

C- "Mom. Check the label--see if it's his."

At this point I thinking, 'Shit. I hope this isn't dear ol' dad's sweater. I love this sweater! I don't want someone crying all over it and offering me $20 so that she can have a sentimental piece of her dearly departed!"

A- "No. It was such a popular design, I guess. I had a deer on mine."
B- "Yeah! They're very popular! I know this guy has a football player on his."
C- "Check it! Maybe it's his."
B- (staring daggers of the Teen Queen)
A- "No. It likely isn't his."
B- "Would you like to check?"
A- (puts her hand on my woolen arm) "No. It was just a nice coincidence to see it. Here. On you."

That hand on my arm, I could have sworn, felt like it was creeping up my sleeve.

B- "Well. . . I better keep shopping for large quantities of things. Take it easy!"

And we parted. Thank God.
The last place I want to start hashing out old Electra complexes is in the pickle aisle of Costco; I would fear over-stimulation.


Tess said...

THat's my sweater... I got it when I was playing for the Calgary Lesbian Pheasant Curling Team. They kicked me off the team when they found me "experimenting" with boys. They said, and I quote: "You're not fit to be a Pheasant! Give the sweater back now, and get out...~!"
I packed up my broom and left, crying into the cold night air and cursing the day I decided to give up ringette for curling (ringette lesbians are much more forgiving about the experimenting thing... some of them are even married to dudes).

I haven't curled since... it's been horrible, I have nothing to do with my free time anymore. And when the roads in Calgary turn to ice... so do the tears filling my eyes. At night I dream of buff women holding brooms and calling my name... they're all wearing pheasant sweaters, only pheasant sweaters...nothing else.

Where did you get that sweater? Toronto? I think they had a game there directly after they gave me the boot, they must have ditched it there and you picked up.

I want it back, Brad, I want that sweater back.

I mean it.

B said...

Double T--

You don't stand an curling sheet's chance in Hell of getting this pheasant sweater back.

Sure, it's a touching story of loss--but I'm unmoved. If there is even a remote chance of attracting big, buff lesbians while wearing this sweater, I'm keeping it!

Or even better--I could use it as a disguise to gain access to the Pheasant Curlers Dressing Room. Straight from a scene in "Porky's", I could be treated to showering lesbian washing each other's lady lumps and pink canoes! Sen-sational!

So the short answer to your question is "no".

I guess that I should have saved you all that reading, and put my short answer first, huh?

Tess said...

Brad, I'm going pheasant hunting.

You're going to wake up dead, in a pool of bird blood,with your head chopped off and your feathers plucked out.

In the words of Rivers Cuomo:

"If you want to destroy my sweater, hold this thread as I walk away. Oh NO. It Go.IT gone, bye bye. Who I think, I sink, and I die..."

It's a metaphor, Brad, a riddle if you will... I don't want to make things too transparent here, cause I'm a writer and I like to paint a picture through words - but, I think you catch the drift... get what I'm driving at... Understand what I"m barking at... have a pretty solid idea of what kind of a web I'm weaving.

Don't pull my threads again, unless you're ready to steal those threads, turn them into strings attached to tiny little marionettes, and take on the puppet master.


I have to go now, the phone is ringing.