The Scarf

The blue checks under shades of grey plaid lay soft against my skin. I longed to purchase the scarf and hold it forever. I wear blue a lot; I could work it into my ward- robe. Oh, but nothing dangling, draping, or hanging at work. At home? Still a pretty item. But I wear turtlenecks so often. It isn’t practical. Are Christmas presents sup- posed to be practical? Even if I buy it for myself? Dad sent me funds. No, he never picks out anything himself. Easier I guess just to send money. Not that expensive, and oh so soft.

I could pull it off, if I were thinner.

It’s a scarf. What does thin or weight or height or stature matter?

It’s so pretty.

I could look together wearing it.

If I weren’t so big, or if I were someone else.

Leaving the scarf on the shelf, I walk out into the brisk frigidity of winter shivering as the snow blows.

Lori Lopez. Reader, writer, wielder of wrenches. By day, a mild-mannered postal mechanic turning wrenches for the USPS, by night a purveyor of stories to tempt your imagination.