Cleaning out a tote bag this morning, my partner found a single glove, and wondered what had become of the other one. It reminded me of my Aunt Mae and her new gloves.
She had gone Christmas shopping in Chicago's Loop, and one of the first things she bought was something for herself, a pair of very fine (and expensive) leather gloves. She became instantly vain about them, taking deliberate care when putting them on or pulling them off and admiring how her hands looked in them.
She was on a real shopping spree, visiting all the big department stores and many smaller shops, and by the time she was ready to go home, she had a bit of a struggle getting onto the elevated train with a lot of boxes and bags bundled into her arms. Once she finally took a seat, she reached into her pocket to retrieve her gloves, but she found only one. She looked in her other pocket, and inside her coat, and on the floor, and around her seat, and among the packages in her lap, but she had only the one glove. Somehow its mate had gotten lost, dropped on the street perhaps, or maybe left on a sales counter somewhere. She was so mad at herself for losing one of her brand-new gloves that, in sheer exasperation, she tossed the surviving glove out the train window, since it was of no use by itself.
When she got home, she dumped her armload of parcels on the kitchen table, and there among them was -- yes, the other glove.
This morning I recommended to my partner that she keep the one glove, just in case.
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