“Ain’t Nobody Dope As Me— I’m just so fresh … So Fresh and So Clean!”
Outkast
On y va!
If you’ve ever experienced a winter in Montreal, you’ll totally understand why Montrealers love summertime. In anticipation of the two glorious months of sunshine and warmth, I had carefully curated my summer wardrobe. Polo from head-to-toe! I was without a doubt going to be the freshest dressed 16-year-old in the city. Scratch that! I already was the freshest dressed 16-year-old in the city. After a long winter of working at McDonald’s (on the weekends), I took my savings and bought a whole new Polo wardrobe. All of my new shirts, shorts, socks, and boxers fit into multiple Polo insignia shopping bags. The journey home, by BMW (Bus, Metro, Walk), was a majestic pageantry of friends hovering around me … trying to catch a glimpse of what was in the esteemed bags. I made a splash everywhere I went that summer. I wore a devilish smile on my face and laughed loudly and often. But as the Wu-Tang Clan’s song foretold, “After the laughter comes tears…”
Stick up kids is out to tax.
One day after washing my “Polo” laundry, I brought the clothes basket upstairs to hang my clothes on the line. Hmph, my younger sister was already using the line. No problem, I walked down the block to my aunt’s house and hung my clothes on her line. Then I was off. Grabbing my bike and hitting the city. What a day it was! So chock full of fun that I forgot to go back to my aunt’s house to pick up my clothes. I’d just pick them up in the morning I thought. Maybe not, the morning dew would make them damp. I’d definitely pick them up mid-afternoon, once they were nice and dry.
Shock and Awe.
Upon arriving at my aunt’s house, my brain couldn’t process what I saw. More accurately, my brain couldn’t process what I didn’t see. There was nothing on the clothesline. That was impossible. What was going on?? I called my aunt at work and asked her if she had taken my clothes off of the line. In horror, I zoned out—like a scene in a Spike Lee joint—as she told me that she had no idea what I was talking about. I ran headfirst into her garden, crushing a few Rhubarb plants underfoot. All I found was one lonely sky-blue argyle sock. I had been robbed. Wu-Tang was right. The summer’s boisterous laughter had turned to metaphorical tears. I got the word out to all of my friends … and friends of friends. If you see the unspeakable fiend who pilfered my wardrobe, tackle him and hold him till I get there. However, justice was never served. All of the outfits were gone. But I had the memories … each wonderful step of the entire process. No one could steal that.
I learned a valuable lesson that summer.
TRUST NO ONE! Equally important … Dry Clean Only! Preferably Madame Paulette’s.