Patsy Cook

Author

Speaker

The Spice for Life

Counselor

Pastor

The Spice for Life

Her Babies call her "Mama"

Her Grand Babies call her "Awma"

The Spice for Life

Patsy Cook

Author

Speaker

The Spice for Life

Counselor

Pastor

The Spice for Life

Her Babies call her "Mama"

Her Grand Babies call her "Awma"

The Spice for Life

Stories & Recipes

Polka Dotted Pants

August 9, 2020 Spice Stories

Polka PantsDon’t you just love to go shopping when the sales are on and all the racks of clothes are 50 to 75 percent off? Plus, you have your $5 coupons and then discover the store is having senior citizens’ discount day also! By that time, I am sure that God is shining down on me.

Well, by the time I have all of this—I just barely made the senior citizen discount—I told the clerk they would have to pay me to take the clothes out of the store. By the way the clerk looked at me, I felt she didn’t think that was so funny.

The clothes were so jammed packed on the rack, you could hardly tell what you were looking at. But, after all these years, I’m an expert at this. I manage to part them just enough to tell if I would wear it or not. Also, I remembered a lot of these when they were not on sale. When I looked at the prices, I told the clerk I didn’t want to buy stock in the company, I just wanted a skirt! Speaking of skirts, I pulled one little tiny one out.

“Miss,” I said, “this one is in the wrong place. It belongs in infant’s wear.”

“No,” she said. “It really is your size; it’s in the right place.”

“Well,” I said, “they must have run out of material before they finished it. And these little polka dotted pants, I know they are misplaced.”

“No, again you’re wrong,” the clerk responded. “They are bicycle pants, spandex, just try them on, you’ll see. You’ll love them.”

I took her up on it. I went into a dressing room, hoping there were no hidden cameras. I began trying to get into those little polka dotted pants, only to have the tiny polka dots turn into baseballs as I squeezed into them. Luckily, I broke into a sweat after such a workout, because if I had even swallowed any water, I would have blown my shoes into the next county.

“Not for me,” I said.

Why can’t they make the normal clothes that we wore in the ‘60s and ‘70s, you know, hip huggers, bell bottoms and leisure suits?

Oh well, time moves on.

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