Packing for a long trip was difficult. We were passing through about twenty states, three time zones, some states that never see winter (Florida and other southern states) and one that never sees summer, which I am not mentioning. We labeled the suitcases by season, summer, fall, and Montana, and threw them into the back of the truck and headed out for our adventure.
It worked pretty well and we could drag the suitcase into the hotel room, toss the dirty clothes into a plastic bag and voila! Then, we would hope for a hotel the next night with a free laundry. We were going along pretty well until I made a mistake.
“I didn’t pack any short-sleeved shirts,” I complained. “I don’t have anything to wear tomorrow and the forecast is hot. I need to go shopping.”
“Shopping? You’ve got about fifty t-shirts in the closet, and you know they are going to be pricey. This is a resort town.” At that point we were in Gulf Shores, Alabama, with temps in the 80s and the humidity percentage higher than that. He was right, I do have about fifty tees in the closet, all from Talbot’s, my favorite store. I hit all their sales because the store satisfies my two basic shopping needs: on sale and on sale.
The cowboy handed me one of his short-sleeved t-shirts and said, “How about this one, we can shop when things are less expensive, and we need to eat?”
I reluctantly put it on, and it fit okay, felt good, didn’t have paint or tears and even had a pocket. No stains, either. Cool. “Okay, but can’t we stop and I can find a real shirt? A girl shirt?”
Let’s get real. Cowboy Bob does not shop. But he does keep my request in mind as we cruised down the road heading north out of the tourist mecca. The roadside shifted from strip malls to cotton fields as he opened the truck window and breathed the country air. Then he said, “Look! A TSC, wow, here in Alabama,” as he slammed on the brakes, turned on emergency flashers, crossed four lanes of traffic and swerved into a parking lot filled with log splitters and woodchippers, (you know, like Fargo). As I let go of the dashboard with my nice fingernails not too damaged, I said, “What in the heck are you talking about, all I need is a short-sleeved girl shirt.”
He smiled, put on his cowboy hat, and sauntered, yes, sauntered toward the front door, while I was rearranging my clothes and hurrying to keep up. He made a left and said, “All Tractor Supply Stores have Carhartt’s, they are to the left and he strode purposefully to the women’s section, removed his hat, curtseyed to me and said, “Madam,” as he pointed to a huge stack—I mean thousands of them– of women’s Carhartt’s. Off he went headed toward the air compressors.
I asked the counter guy if there were any Talbots stores nearby and he replied, “I think I’ve heard of them, do they sell fertilizer?”
I asked, “Do women really wear these Carhartt’s.”
“Yes, Ma’am, most popular style for college this year, and we just got a new load in, so today is your lucky day,” he said with an Alabama accent so thick you could put it on hot cakes.
So, I tried on a purple burlap color and the cowboy said, “Wow, you look good in that persimmon, so feminine, looks great, you have fine taste,” he said with a smile, flashing those blue eyes.
So, there you go, I am now a Carhartt girl, but still love those Talbots clothes. I just hope Carhartt does not come out with underwear.
Oh, joy, he tells me that Tractor Supply Companies are all the way from Florida to Montana.
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