Thanksgiving in Chicago. Just the thought of it sent chills down my back.
I talked to my son, a seasoned New Yorker, and made sure I had packed enough clothes for the three layers he suggested.
I live in Florida and had no winter coat for the occasion. I searched in my closest and found a prized 3o year old fur coat and thought it would be the perfect thing to wear. I discussed the coat with my son, a fashion stylist, and he assured me I would not look like a complete fool wearing the darn thing. He can be a prankster, so I prayed he was serious.
I boarded the plane and headed to Chicago. Outside the airport there was a gust of wind that truly caught me by surprise. Still, I thought the fur coat was doing quite well and just maybe my son was right. But five minutes into the cab ride the coat unleashed its vengeance. Hands full of fur began shedding in the car. I felt like a mutt and began apologizing to the driver. He just looked, engrossed in the news about the Ferguson verdict. When we reached my destination, I apologized and gave him a sizeable tip. That seemed to appease him. He commented on the tip and not the heaps of fur all over his back seat. Embarrassed, I jumped out of the cab vowing never to wear that coat again.
At the end of the trip I asked my daughter to donate the coat to Goodwill, better yet just throw it away in a trash bag. No need in anyone else suffering besides me and the poor dead animals.
When I told my son what had happened, he commented that the coat should have been stored in a bag to prevent it from shedding. Oh well, better late than never.