The Trailer
The trench - The tears - The new love - The delivery - The (re)union - The balcony - The dinner
(You can now skip to the star of the show below, but it contains spoilers.)

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The Movie
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<-- Exposition -->

Earlier this year I missed out on a fab red trench. In January, while I was still freezing, I could not see its true potential for the coming Spring months, my mind is simply not wired that way. I'm Team Buy what you'll wear now, Wear what you buy now.

I really regretted being short-sighted.

The international hunt was started even, which resulted with my deeper respect for Inge for all her efforts, but it brought no results.

<-- Rising action -->

I tried some other trenches in the weeks and months that followed, some by the same brand who seem to design and make their stuff for me me me (Mexx), only to reinforce that you should either buy the right thing or nothing at all. Every substitute is just a substitue, especially if you have seen the real thing, tried it on, felt it was tailored just for you... ah, the pain, the emotional turmoil I was left with.

I think I'm on Mexx's black list, I ordered and returned every single thing I tried in the meantime. Either that or they tried the cheap trick of bribing me with €5 voucher to order and keep anything. Not sure.

Btw, I check ebay from time to time.
Nothing.

The trench page was the homepage for all my browsers, I checked it religiously several times each day.
Nada.

A few times I saw it on the street, once it biked past on a lady not my size, and once it walked by me on a lady of similar built to mine and all I could think of was: "You are wearing MY trench!". I squinted my eyes at her and exhaled hot lava through my enlarged nostrils.
(Remember that scene from "When Harry met Sally" when Marie tells Sally:
"All I'm saying is that somewhere out there is the man you are supposed to marry. And if you don't get him first, somebody else will, and you'll have to spend the rest of your life knowing that somebody else is married to your husband")

So, husband is in this case trench coat, and now I have to spend the rest of my life knowing that somebody else is wearing my trench.

Agony, I tell you.

<-- Climax -->
While I was stalking it on the website, I would occasionally check other sections and I spotted A striking button down. I liked it, but I didn't need it, I especially didn't €50 need it, so I admired it from the distance and decided to forget about it and happily let someone else be happy to spend €50 on it.

And then, something happened.

The force was with me a few days ago, or was it Mexx newsletter announcing seasonal sale, I can't remember it any more, but I checked the trench - again, nothing for me - again, then I went to blouses.

And.
There.
It.
Was.

The button down.

That button down which was "A" €50 button down a few lines above.

One size left.

My size.

For the mere €20.

Ok, €19.95 if I'm completely honest, but youknowwhatImean.

I could hear the angels, or million little Angies scattered around the globe, chanting: BBQ, BBQ.

Oh yes, for €20, or €19.95 if you really insist, I too do need this button down.

Click, basket, checkout, conf... wait a minute - I suddenly remembered that discount coupon and hoped I remembered where I left it all those months ago, and in one jump I was by the shelf where the coupon was still waiting for me - score!, and back by the laptop in one more jump before my session times out, price down to €15 (from €50) - ...irm order.

It was on its way to me.

I went to the website again only to discover there were none left in stock. I bought the last one ever.

I could feel the emotional wounds which missing out on that red trench left me with have started to heal, at last.

That was Wednesday.
I had firm plans to wear it on a date night on Saturday. Plenty of time for delivery, no?

Well, no.

The next day, on Thursday it indeed has been delivered - but not to me. You see, the really nice thing about my neighbours is that everyone here is happy to accept someone else's parcels to save our neighbours, who may not be at home at the time of delivery, the walk to the post office or the wait until the post office is open.

So, Mrs 1st Floor Apartment on the Left, a quiet lady, had my parcel. And then she went missing.

I rang a bell a few times during Thursday afternoon, whole Friday, Saturday. Nobody was answering.

Time to engage Plan BB.

<-- Falling action -->

It's Saturday.

Mr O. and I plan to leave the house at 20:00.

At 19:30 I heat the door-bell! Young man in his late teens hands me the parcel that my neighbour had sent.

Yup, that parcel.

But, do not hurry to be too happy for me too early.

To my horror, the parcel has the familiar smell of the cigarette smoke. Yes, one of the delivery men who covers our area smokes like chimney and you can tell that it was his round by that smell that still lingers on the cardboard box. Three days later.

I cut the tape, unwrap the paper and look at the content with the mixture of "you're so beautiful, so near yet maybe so, so far away".

Quick test reveals it's actually not as I feared, the cardboard had bore the brunt of the smoke exposure. Still, unsure whether the smell that lingers in my nose is from the box or is also in its content, I take the blouse outside, shake it vigorously, leave exposed to the evening sun and wait, settled that I'll go with previously prepared Plan BBbd (as in Brooks Brothers button down).

<-- Dénouement -->

19:58 - I'm at the balcony. I check it and it actually does not smell.
19:59 - A dash of perfume releases my last worries. I'm at the door.
20:00 - I'm playing for Team Wear.

The End