Don’t worry, I’m not parading around in my undies, but I’ve just learnt a costly lesson and I have to admit that I’m a bit embarrassed.
In early June I dropped two pairs of wool dress trousers off at my local dry cleaner. Then the weather got warm, sheets of the calendar flew off and seasons changed. The next thing I knew it was September and I suddenly remembered my poor pants that I’d abandoned at the cleaners. I hoofed it down the street, blew into the shop — and stopped in my tracks. The woman behind the counter wasn’t the same woman who’d helped me for countless years. I stared at the stranger in abject confusion. She stared back at me. I broke the staredown long enough to take in the refurbished digs, and noticed, to my horror, that the rack along the wall was no longer stuffed and drooping with hundreds of clean outfits. Instead, it was pityingly bare.
Turns out that the cleaners I’d entrusted my pants to went out of business in late June. No call from the owners, no nothing. And my pants are gone, daddy gone.
I’ve learnt my lesson: treat everything I own with respect, which includes picking up my dry cleaning within a week of dropping it off. Boo. I really liked those pants.