


       Clothes Make The Mam

                                             By Gary Bryant

            I was lucky enough to have two brothers  and three 
       sisters get married in the span of two years.  Why was 
       I lucky? I only had to buy one suit.   
       
            Funerals,  job interviews and days when all of your 
       'good clothes'  are in the wash are the other times you 
       might have  needed a suit.

            One day my wife was going through  the brown boxes 
       in the basement.  

      "You can't fit  into  this!" She says, pulling out the 
       pin-strip wedding suit  purchased in 1972.  
       
       I knew I couldn't fit into that suit even if Jenny Craig 
       and a battalion of Weight Watchers worked me over in 
       the parking lot of Nutra-System's Headquarters.  It was 
       the kind of suit that comes back to haunt you long after 
       you can't fit into it.
     
       "We'll have a garage sale on Saturday, so we'll let it
        go then.  It is hardly used." My wife said casually.
            
       "Sure, go ahead and put the remnants of my life up
        for sale", I thought to myself, secretly delighted with
        the prospect of unloading it.

       "Why don't you sell  all of my suits on Saturday?" I asked, 
        half seriously.  I hadn't anticipated going to any more 
        weddings or  funerals in the next ten or twenty pounds.
        Getting rid  of these old suits would make more room for 
        sweatshirts , jeans and other forms of realistic apparel.
          
       Saturday came and my wife had her garage sale.  I spent
       my time at other garage sales looking for more  appropriate 
       attire with which to fill the void in the brown boxes in 
       the basement.  

       "How'd it go?" I asked my wife when I arrived.  She was 
        busy organizing one dollar bills.

       "Just fine," she said.   "And my suits? Did you sell my 
        suits?" I asked impatiently.

       "Well, yes...  and no." she replied, pointing to the
        sofa.

           I sent my gaze in the appropriate direction and saw 
       my 1972 pin stripped suit staring me in the face.  I  
       turned back to my wife looking for some clue, some hint  
       as to why that suit was still haunting me. 
          
       "Mrs.  Rampeniri came by and took your other two suits."    
      
       "The one's I liked?"  I shot back.  
      
       "Mrs.  Rampeniri  is a seamstress.  I gave her your other 
        two suits and in  return, she let out the waist and shoulders 
        on your  favorite pin stripped suit.  Isn't that wonderful?"

       I went down to the basement and quietly put my newly
       acquired sweatshirt into the brown box, wishing I could
       fill it instead...with Mrs.  Rampeniri.  



