THE SCARF

 

Sometimes I am such a slob!  Last night I got lasagna sauce on my oldest, most favorite scarf.  I’ve had it for over fifty years, and it is a large silk square map of the London Underground.  Frank had seen it many times over the years, but it never struck him as being significant until son Joe, a frequent London visitor, said it was probably worth a bit of money. (Who cares? My heirs can sell it – I want to wear it now.)  So – I’d quickly treated the sauce stains so they wouldn’t set and I washed the scarf this morning. On my way into the bathroom to hang the damp scarp over the towel rack, Frank said “Where did you get that scarf?”  And therein lies an interesting tale.

When my sister was a senior in high school she did a bit of light housekeeping for a young, chic, single co-worker of our Mom’s. This gal was getting married and had amassed quite a wardrobe.  Come the time when the honeymoon was over and they began living in this posh home on Old Brookville, New York, the new husband decided he didn’t like any of this gal’s trousseau.  He told her to give it all away. And that’s what she did: she gave it all to Karen.  Both of them were tall and slim and the clothes fit my sister to a T. I was many inches shorter and, as I am still, on the chunky side, so I got some of the things that didn’t have sizes.  Things like an absolutely fabulous red fox fur hat that I wore skiing for years - this was back in 1960, before all the fur foofaraw; a wonderful, huge wicker pocketbook with leather lid and handle; and The Scarf.  I just love the scarf.

But can you imagine the situation? He took her out and re-dressed her from top to toe - well, to the ankles:her shoes were acceptable. It’s the stuff that Silhouette romances are made of – gorgeous gal, handsome guy, lots of money - except that they didn’t live happily ever after.  She shoulda known something was a bit off kilter.  Two lovely children later they were divorced.