That’s a Women’s Blazer

There’s this family story my sister tells. It goes a little something like this: We were all hanging out at home, and my step dad says he’s bought some new clothes at the thrift store. He puts on a jacket to model for us. He does a little turn, thinking he looks good. We’re all like, “are you serious?” First of all, the jacket is ugly. It looks like something Scarlet O’Hara might have fashioned out of drapes. Ugly, wool, plaid drapes. But, it’s not just ugly; there’s something really off about it. My mom asks, “Is that darted?” Finally, my sister loudly proclaims, “That’s a women’s blazer!” And, we all laugh for days. We laugh at every retelling too.

It’s a true story. Only, my sister wasn’t there. It was just my step dad, my mom, and me. He really was wearing a women’s jacket, and we really did call him out on it. He claimed to have bought it in the men’s section, but he admitted that the cashier gave him a funny look.

I’ve given up on trying to set the story straight, because I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer. But, what bothers me is that it’s my mom and step dad who always seem to be the ones encouraging my sister to tell the story. Don’t they remember what actually happened? Doesn’t it bother anyone else that this story is at least half lies and exaggeration? Doesn’t my sister remember that she wasn’t there?! I guess that’s the life of a story.

For the record, this happened way before Michael Scott ever purchased that lady’s suit from the bargain bin.