I See A Biiiiiird...

Flash Back Friday

Y'all already know how crazy I am about clothes so can you imagine how I felt when I LOST ALL MY CLOTHES? No, I'm not just talking about the clothes off my back. I mean ALL MY CLOTHES.


It happened when I was sixteen. We lived in New Jersey but never considered ourselves Damn Yankees. My dad was from Kentucky, still owned a farm there and most of our family still lived in Kentucky. So we were Southerners to the bone. A couple years later, I went to the University of Kentucky, my family moved back to Kentucky and I never returned to New Jersey. And good riddance. And I am so sorry if y'all live in New Jersey. But come to Kentucky and you may never go back either. Anyway. I was sixteen and I lived for clothes. You may be asking how that is different from now and my answer is...well, it's not that different. I had a job at Mason's department store in the stockroom and every penny I made went towards buying new clothes. So, I had a lot of clothes. Darling clothes. Darling, I tell you.

Well, the time came for our summer vacation. Summer vacation for us normally consisted of either visiting family in Kentucky or my grandmother in Pensacola and this was a Kentucky summer. I had a boyfriend at the time and the thought of being separated from him for a week was just more anguish than my teenage heart could bear and my parents, taking pity on me and tired of hearing me whine, allowed Arthur to go on vacation with us. I packed up my suitcase with practically every stitch of clothing I owned (I still overpack.) and we got the car packed up. Arthur volunteered to tie our suitcases on the roof of the car. Carefully, he put them up there and looped the rope around and around, tying several tight knots.

And we set out for Kentucky.

Arthur and I were lying in the back and my two brothers were (fighting) sitting in the backseat. It was early and dark but as it got lighter and lighter and I got drowsy, looking out the back window, I noticed two birds fly by. Or I thought they were birds. I thought drowsily "Biiiiiirds..." and never thought another thing about it.

A couple of hours later, we stopped for a rest. And the suitcases were gone. GONE. They had blown off the top of the car. They were the two birds I had seen. You have never heard such weeping and wailing as I gave out when I realized my clothes were gone. My dad actually turned around and drove back for a couple of hours, looking for the suitcases. We stopped at a state police station and they assured us they would let us know if anyone turned them in. We headed back for Kentucky and I spent half the trip with my nose pressed against the window, looking for my precious clothes. But alas. They were never seen again.

Y'all. I had the clothes on my back. That was all. My darling gold culotte dress with the cunning little brown leather belt. My cocoa brown culottes (shut up, culottes were the RAGE) with the matching pink, brown and white striped sweater with the darling little cap sleeves. All my precious Bonnie Belle makeup. My many, many pairs of fabulous wedgie sandals. Gone. Gone. Gone.

It was probably the worst fashion experience of my life. Even worse than the time I got the blue jean skirt stuck on my hips in the dressing room and couldn't get it off and Liz had to help me. I still think about some of those clothes. And the person who must have picked up my suitcase. And kept my lovely clothes.


Curse them. May they get a blue jean skirt stuck on their hips in a dressing room and have nobody to help them and so they have to get someone to cut it off. Maybe even taking just a little tiny bit of skin with it.