I hate this department store, but it is home. Actually, my “home” is the third shelf in the accessories department. Yup, I am an accessory, but not an overly flirtatious purse or a “hard-core” leather wallet. No, I am much more useful in certain situations. Sure, a purse can keep a lady’s items organized, and a wallet holds your financial life, but can they keep your arteries warm in the middle of winter when battling hypothermia? For them, not in the least, yet we scarves, especially ones such as me, can do such a meager task. In fact, I come from a long line of scarves that were used by the Russian army (not that I condone their actions) and are still used today by Antarctic scientists. Alas, life in a store, especially in the summer, can be such a bore. However on a winter’s day blowout sale, like today, the excitement reaches an all time high.
“Oh my gosh!” A purse exclaimed in her usual stupidity. “Today is, like, a major sale, and I’ll, like, totally get bought by an amazing cheerleader and we’ll, like, be the best of friends. We’ll go on dates and, like, meet a hot boy and we’ll, like…”
“Holy crap!” One of my more annoying British cousins interjected. “I never knew something could be as bloody irritating as you! Do you actually think, or are you completely incapable of thought to the point of noticing that this “girl” would keep up with the trends in fashion? Sure she would lug your bloody mess around for a while, but you would fall out of style and get thrown into the dump with all the other purses that couldn’t keep up with the fashion trends! Now, could you keep your bloody trap shut, you useless pile of thread!”
“Uh, whatever!” The purse replied as she brushed off the insults.
“Dude,” I addressed the snobby Brit. “First off, it is a sale, so she would be excited. Second, you’re even more annoying. Finally, you’re the tread.”
“I’m not a bloody thread!” He screeched. Then a glove joined in, next another purse, and before to long, an all out war of words broke out, out of which I could only hear a few phrases.
“I do not smell like llamas!” An infuriated glove from Peru hollered.
“You are, like, so ugly!” A small, appalled purse screeched.
“I’m more buff than you!” One wallet screamed as he challenged another.
“I don’t like cheese!” A small Swiss Army Knife retorted to an insult.
Suddenly, all the watches created an unearthly noise that quieted the unruly mob.
“Now then,” a Rolex announced. “I have an importtant announcement to make. The store will open in three, two, one, now.” Then, just like da Vinci himself, the doors opened up and a seething mass of people came swarming in.
Ten, twenty, then thirty minutes in and I had hardly been brushed aside like common rubbish. I gazed hopelessly into the crowd, longing to be bought, when I noticed young man about twelve or thirteen years old. In his hands, he held a list called “Stuff for Winter Campout.” My heart soared like a might eagle when he held me and gingerly pulled me off the shelf. I could feel by his rough hands that he wanted me.
“Mom,” the boy called. “I’ll take this one.”
“Why do you want that one?” The kid’s mom said as she showed him that stupid British snob. “Why not take this one?”
“Well,” that thread began. “Looks like you’ll be stuck here for a while, you bloody thread.” While he was going on about his “victory” I saw his tag that had “cotton” stamped on it, when the boy had “wool” written on his list.
“Well, this one is made of wool, and that one is made out of cotton. Besides,” the boy explained. “This one matches my uniform better.”
“No!” The scarf roared as he was tossed back onto the shelf, where he was promptly snatched in the hands of a teenage girl.
“Look Becky!” The girl exclaimed to her friend. “This scarf, like, totally matches the purse.”
“Like, hello you thread,” the purse he absolutely hated declared.
“Aaaahhhh!” He cried in despair as I, in the arms of my new friend, left the store that was so good to me behind.