________________________________
Summer of 1999 - Ocean City, MD. There visiting with my sister Barbara, whom I have spoke about here before. On a little mini holiday within my own holiday visiting from Minnesota.
So there we were on the Boardwalk strolling along. We soon learned that it was the annual firefighter's convention week. You know, a little like Bike Week, but um, without the bike. Annual Firefighter's Week? It was also Friday night.
As we walked along on the Boardwalk, we discovered a little shop among dozens of little shops. Or, maybe it is more accurate to say that the shop discovered us. For as we walked by, the shopkeeper came outside and immediately scooped us up before we could even protest.
Into the little shop, which had Harley dresses for sale, among other various important items of merchandise. At the time I was married and had not worn a little dress for quite a long time! They were soooo cute! A couple of the dresses already had garters built in; sexy black, ooh la la.
I could just see myself flirting with the boys in one of these gorgeous garments in the event that a perfect stranger would happen to walk through the door right then and buy a little sexy dress for me. Which didn't happen.
What did happen was the shopkeeper was ex cited!!!!! He was pumped! Goodness! As soon as a few little dresses had been thrust into our arms, we were given the command (yes!) to try each of the dresses on, and then come out and model them for said shopkeeper. Being the adventurous spirits that we were, we followed the shopkeeper out the back door and into a common shared space for the businesses.
We were practically pushed into the girl's bathroom with another firm admonition to come out and model the dresses as s o o n as they were on. Well, I know we got through at least a couple of sets while we oohed and awed at one another's choices, much to the shopkeeper's delight. But then something happened.
Earlier I had noticed a slight odor when we had first walked into the bathroom, but then forgot about it. As we began to slip into the next batch of dresses, I realized something wasn't right. I was noticing that something appeared to be wrong with the hem on Barbara’s dress as she started pulling it up. At first I was baffled as to what the heck was wrong with the dress hem as I stared at the black dress silhouetted against the black floor. But as the dress came up, I shouted, ‘OMG!! Barbara - there’s bleach on that dress!!!’
Sure enough - the odor I had originally detected in the beginning, was the smell of bleach from a floor that had just been mopped. An older building with its original flooring pitted in spots - enough to collect water. Or should I say, apparently enough to collect bleached water!
We were horrified. Not only was it clear the dress had been completely ruined, but I'm pretty sure it was the most expensive item that Barbara had selected. The dress price was around $150.00 and that was 11 years ago.
The shopkeeper sure wasn’t amused as we gingerly tried to explain what had happened. He definetly lost his sense of humor. We were just casually strolling along on the Boardwalk . . .
* * * * * *