"Sweating Bullets!"

Another Holy Shirt Subject...

 Good Saturday Morning, all bodies.

Last Saturday, at the Scenic Rivers Gallery show, my friend, Peggy Usner, noticed that I was wearing a new shirt. I don't know how she knew that other than the fact that I haven't bought any shirts since my stay in Palm Springs with the American Society of Aviation Artists three years ago and had seen over time every shirt I ever owned.

"Did you buy a new shirt?" she asked.

"Yes, I did. Why?"

With a twinkle in her eye she said that I forgot to take a tag off. I froze. I froze because a few days earlier, I bought three or four shirts and none of them fit once I tried them on at home. Two of the four were on hangars and the other two were created by structural engineers intent on making the deconstruction most difficult.

And, of course, once the shirts were taken apart in order to expose hidden internal assumptions and be analyzed, it was nearly impossible to put back together again. The shirts never looked as good as they did all neatly packed firm and tight.

On one shirt, which I came close to buying, I confidently snapped the plastic line that held the last possible deterrent. I was so sure it would fit, but it didn't.

"You shouldn't have broken that seal," my wife belatedly commented.

"They won't take it back now even if you have the receipt," she said.

Well, I certainly wasn't gonna keep a shirt that I'm not gonna ever wear, I thought to myself.

"Maybe, I'll just donate it to some needy shirtless dude," I said.

While stuffing all the deconstructed parts to the shirts in the original bag it dawned on me that I could mend the plastic strap by heating a screwdriver and melting the two ends back together again.

It always worked in my model airplane building days when glue no longer worked to hold two broken pieces together. Oh, the tactics of a fashionably covert shopper.

Once the tricky operation was completed, I tugged at the plastic cord with the label attached and it held together perfectly. The proof of my handiwork would be vindicated at the return desk...

... or sent to jail for defrauding J.C. Penney.

So, with the tags securely intact, I carefully rebuilt the two shirts that I had originally stuffed back into the shopping bag. I rebuilt them to the best of my knowledge with stickers, pins, collar inserts, cardboard backing and tissue paper folding them ever so neatly and hiding the repaired labels so the cashier would not suspect a thing.

Sweating bullets as the cashier took the two shirts off the hangers and placed them aside, she took the receipt out of the bag and never even checked to see my "cloak and dagger" handiwork.

It was a bit of a tense moment when she looked me straight in the eye and then... handed me my refund. I thanked her and walked off looking back to see her take the bagged shirts and throw them in with the other returnables.

Double Oh Seven styled stuff, I tell ya!

Copyright 2021/Ben Bensen III