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.
