Fashion provides economic opportunities

It was just another day around the debating table at the Bakery in Drizzle Creek. The usual crowd was there. Pickle was on the road (some people still have to work), but the Runt has become a regular since joining the ranks of the retired.
Missy, the waitress who was home from university for the summer, was slapping down orders of toast, coffee, and donuts with reckless abandon, wasting not a moment as she hurried back to the kitchen for another order.
“Boy, that girl sure must be desperate to raise some cash for the coming school year. Did you see the condition of those jeans she’s wearing? Why they’re all baggy and the knees an thighs are full of holes,” observed the Runt as he trowelled an extra layer of peanut butter on his toast.
“Why it reminds me of my youth and hay handling days out on the farm. Took the knees out of every pair of jeans I owned in the first week of the season,” he reminisced as he polished of the first slice in three bites.
“Not only the knees are out. The left cheek of the seat is gone as well. I think she’s wearing red panties,” put in Moose, ever an observer of the finer details. The next round Missy made by the table every male eye in the joint followed her progress to make sure Moose’s information was accurate.
“You know, we oughta’ help her out a bit. Here, everybody throw a townie in the pot. I saw new jeans on sale for under twenty bucks the other day,” stated the Runt, as he held out his hat and glowered at every reluctant face until all had contributed. Before Missy had made two more trips the collection was complete and the Runt made the presentation when she made the refill round.
‘Here Missy. This is a going back to school gift from the guys. Now you can buy yourself a new pair of jeans and throw those scruffy old ones away. Must be nearly thirty bucks here,” offered the Runt magnanimously as he extended one massive paw holding the loot.
Missy stopped in mid-pour, her initial look of consternation, quickly replaced by a look of scornful indignation.
“Thirty bucks! Why I paid over fifty for these,” she snorted, slopping scalding coffee over Scrounger’s extended cup.
“Geez, that’s too bad. But look at ‘em. They’re shot. Full of holes. Time for a new pair,” explained a patient, but confused Runt at the unexpected reaction to his act of charity.
“That’s the way they are supposed to be. They were new this week. THEY COME LIKE THIS. You clods, don’t know anything about fashion. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a set of jeans like that,” Missy explained with distain, indicating the Runts obviously new denims- the tags still on. Swinging around scornfully, she headed back to the kitchen. Again every male head followed trying again to confirm the shade of the underwear.
A light bulb came on over Scrounger’s head who was moments before preoccupied with sucking on his scalded fingers.
“Guys, we’re going to be hauling hay at my place the next couple of days. Wear your oldest jeans, the more ragged the better. Not only will I pay you well but at the end you can trade in all those old denims for a free brand new pair,” he offered rubbing his hands at the potential windfall.
I fully expect to see him at the Farmers Market for the rest of the summer, with an extensive collection of cutting edge, high fashion denim. Who says there are no economic opportunities on the home front?

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