Haberdashy Dash

WANTED

FRINGING

Wanted for infringement

Of home wares

Will pay handsome reward.

We're outlaws on a mission.


We mount our thoroughbreds and ride into town. We had heard there were all sorts of old trims hiding out in a dusty old place called the Job Warehouse.


We stand in the doorway and peer in. The chatter ceases and heads turn. Two cowboys shade their eyes as our silhouette fills the doorway. Our eyes squint to adjust to the dim light. From behind the bar a squeaky voice comes,
“What is it you ladies are looking for?”


Our eyes adjust to the darkness as we mosey on in. I see I am in a den of fabric trash and treasure.
“I’m after the fringing,” I say.
“And any other old trims you’re a-hiding.”


The old curly wolf at the front don’t move from his seat. They glance at each other.
“See what you can find.”
He challenges us, thinking we’re just some chickabiddy chuckleheads rather than two catawompous calico queens.


And that’s when I see it. The trim. All tangled up and sorry looking. Hiding at the bar behind the seated silver fox.


I squeeze passed and grab at it. Holding the dog’s breakfast of tangles aloft I declare,
“This here! Fringing! You hidin’ any more of it?”
The dude behind the bar is short and dark and squat and he laughs with a nervous nancy-boy snigger. “Well that there is worth something you know,” He stutters.
My pardner steps in and answers,
“We’re prepared to pay the handsome reward.”


Another glance is exchanged and the grey haired old dog on the seat says,
“Well then. You’ll have to look in there!”


His arm stretches to the left to indicate the other room that lays hidden behind a wall of fabric rolls.
”But you might get mighty dirty.” He warns.


I slam my fringing on the bar.
“You take care of this!” I say as I saunter passed and head for the other room.
I’m no lily liver and I disappear behind chained off corridor to have a look-see. My pardner, Leanne, stands guard as I climb a mountain of haberdashery as high as a gallows at a Texas cakewalk.


“Watch out” Leanne calls, “Don’t go over the other side...I may never see you again.”
Undaunted by my high heels and frock, I clamour to the top. Under foot I see a bone orchard of every notion you can imagine. There were flowers, feathers, raffia, ric rac, lace and all sorts of trimmings and tranklements. I spy some bows and buckles and even a lost hat or two. From the top of the hill I scour the horizon and see it. The edges sticking out from under an entanglement of broidery anglaise. Fringing.


I dive across and discard a box of old zippers and press studs and grab at a fresh unopened roll of white fringing; just the sort of fringing that was wanted. I fling it into the trusty hands of my pardner and, well, then I really start a-diggin’. Rolls of ric rac are uncovered cowering at the bottom of the pile of dashery; brown, black, navy, orange and yeller.


My haul is mighty happifying. I nod at my pardner and she says we’ve got ourselves enough for today. I grab a handful of zippers, just for good measure and slide down the tumble of trims.


We mosey on back to the bar with our haul in our arms and place it in front of those two gentlemen.
“Well looky here at what I found in there.” I say.
“That’s a mighty fine grist of trim.” The short one stutters.
“Damn straight it is.” I say, happy to acknowledge the corn. “And I’m taking it by hook or by crook! The whole lock, stock and smoking barrel.”

The old silver fox is still seated in his chair but he takes us gals more seriously now.
“It’s not every day such fine looking ladies come into our place.” he says.
“Next time I may let you into the other room. You might find some dirty old wanted trim hiding there.”

We doff our hats and say that day might very well eventuate. Then we skedaddle back out of town, our saddle bags a-bulgin’.

Posted by sister outlaw Julianne