Oh, aaarg! This morning I was folding wash from the dryer and what did I find that had been through the whole cycle? My good, black, cashmere-lined, 4-button Fownes gloves! Aaarg! I know the glove fell into the laundry basket from a shelf where I had placed them temporarily, but why didn’t I notice this before I threw the whole mess in the washer? Yes, I know I can get a new pair, but these were my Mother’s. It’s the sentiment attached, doncha know.
Looking for another pair to put in the pockets of my black winter jacket, (It was 35° when I got up this morning) I mooched around in the box where I keep odd, miscellaneous scarves, gloves and little purses. I don’t have a great collection of any of these items and rarely use them, but as the say: “One never knows.” There – ah the memories! – I found my pair of white kid gloves. They are so lovely I’m ready to meet royalty. Back in the sixties I was asked to be in my friend Lolly’s wedding. Her wonderful mom – one of my former Girl Scout leaders – was a stickler for manners and etiquette. Everyone in the wedding party was expected to wear gloves – yes, the men too. I remember the men had on grey gloves – were they cotton? – but she bought all of us girls white kid gloves. I don’t remember if I ever wore them again, though I must have over these last 47 years, but I keep them “among my souvenirs.”
So, needless to say, I trotted out my album to look at the picture of us gals. I scanned it in for posterity, and safer keeping. That’s me, the chubbiest one, in the picture below – and you can just see my pair of white kid gloves.