Joyce appraised our little rolling rack of fashions but explained she was going to do a big article on white shirts. She nonchalantly noted that we had none. I felt like an arrow had pierced my heart.
“I’m working on some,” I practically whispered. “Pardon?” she intoned, turning her self-possessed head to listen more intently. “White shirts,” I replied. “I’m working on white shirts at this very moment!” I bluffed. “When would you need them and how many would you like?” I asked helpfully.
“Ten days,” came the somewhat unemotional response. “No problem,” I retorted as the gastric juices started flooding my tummy.
“Susie!” I screamed as Joyce exited The Unicorn. “We’ve got a week to do the impossible!”
But we pulled it off. Our shirt shift was gruelling but we came through in style.
Just like clock work, Joyce arrived ten days later to pick up the shirts. We had five styles for her to choose from and she took four. A few days later on the front page of the Fashion Section of the Globe & Mail, there it was: a WHOLE page featuring a title “The Tale of the Shirt”.