The Jacket Thief
Someone decided to steal my new jean jacket this weekend. Friday night I was hanging out at Tattooed Mom’s on South Street with some friends. I set my jacket down on a chair next to the people I was with. Soon I noticed some people sit down next to us, one of them setting their jacket down on top of mine. I didn’t think anything of it since this happens fairly often. Within the next 10 minutes they must have gotten up, picked up their jacket (with mine under it) and walked away. Damn them. Luckily, I didn’t have anything in it at the time. But that’s not the point. When I was young my brother got a jean jacket. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I got one in an attempt to emulate his coolness, but was quickly discouraged due to the extreme cardboard-like stiffness of the jacket as well as my inability to break it in nicely due to my small stature. Here I am, years later, thinking I could finally pull it off only to be slapped in the face. Call me trendy, call me what you will for wanting a jean jacket. I don’t care. I just hope the scoundrel takes a trip out to the country to a farm and gets the sleeve of my jacket caught in a combine pulling them to their timely fate.
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