Glove at First Sight

I haven’t had a decent pair of winter gloves in decades. Not that I haven’t had gloves that cost a pretty penny, those coming by way of gifts as I would never spend that much for gloves. But cost doesn’t seem to bear any relation to glovial perfection, apparently. Or maybe I just have ridiculously picky hands. Whatever the case may be, on Thursday, I found a pair of woolen gloves in the garage that fit my paws perfectly. I loved them. And so, as go many a love-at-first-sight affairs, it was over almost before it began. I lost the darned things last night at the grocery store. Oh well. We had almost two full beautiful days together and though many a glove will come and go as the years go by, I will never forget them. But just to be clear. If I see you walking down the street with those gloves on, you are going to wish they had been boxing gloves by the time the dust settles. So if you have them, know that I do want them back and yes, I will pay a ransom.

©2013 Jim Hagarty

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.