Even Joseph and his “Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” would have to take a back seat to this.
Not that I didn’t enjoy the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical when it first opened on Broadway in 1982. I left there humming the lyrics to the hit song “Any Dream Will Do.”
My reverie of such a dream coat turned to ashes one Christmas season following that production. Read on!
My wife surprised me one afternoon with a new coat she had purchased. It was more out of desperation than just a present. I relented.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I shunned. “What’s wrong with the one I’ve been wearing?”
“It’s 20 years old and looks its age.”
“That’s how close we are. It’s lasted this long. A little extra time won’t hurt.”
The coat was a beaut, really. It was cashmere and tailored to fit, like a woman trying on a fur coat that was made for her. I hated to admit how right she was, but went ahead and gave her a gracious hug anyway. I mean, just the thought alone. I never would have bought it.
“Wear it well,” she cooed. “Consider it an advance Christmas gift.”
I had to admit, it made me feel like a new man during the weeks leading up to Christmas. As for the ragtag coat I’d been wearing, into the trash bin it went.
I wore it to work the next day and was the object of scrutiny by the guys. They saw a new me.
“Hey, who’s that guy in the new wardrobe?” they muttered. “That you, Tom?”
With the red scarf and new black cap I had added, I took a look in the mirror.
“Yup, that’s me.”
In the days that followed, I wore my coat to a VIP business social, two other company parties, and a boys’ night out. I never did catch the price tag but it didn’t matter. Why douse the holiday spirit?
The outfit was completed with a new pair of shoes and trousers. I was now a complete man, ready to take control of myself.
You know what they say about clothes? “New apparel often proclaims the man—to be what he is not.” I felt chic. Debonair. Quite fashionable, thank you.
You’re looking at a guy who’s never been inside a haberdashery. My slippers could fall apart and I’m reluctant to change. Same with my well-worn gloves. The one suit I had at graduation finally gave way to another, 10 years ago. We won’t get into neckties. The Slim Jims are just fine.
Oh, wait. I almost forgot to mention my favorite sweater: the red one with a hole at the sleeve. Nobody knows it’s there but me. The crease covers it. Three others are on standby but take up space in my closet. Maybe someday.
It was about the time the Salvation Army’s Christmas Castle was downtown and they were sponsoring a gingerbread house contest. I was asked to be a judge and obviously consented with a camera in tow.
It was a crisp, cold evening as I recall but no problem for my cashmere coat. On it came and off I went, ready for action. I walked in the door and was greeted by several in attendance.
I hung my coat on a rack at the front of the establishment and went about my business. What a lineup of gingerbread houses. This would take a while.
After the winners were announced and pictures taken, I returned to fetch my coat and—oh my gosh—it was gone. I checked out the whole place, including the men’s room. No coat. My heart sank to its lower depths.
I summoned a Salvation Army worker, thinking she had some answers. She sure did!
“That’s the rack for give-aways,” she informed me. “People come and go all the time, helping themselves to the offerings. Somebody off the street must have dropped by, tried on your coat, and walked out with a charm.”
What? Somebody lifted my cashmere coat? What would I tell my wife? How could I justify such ineptitude?
The night got even colder as I made my way home in shirtsleeves, thinking of some answers. Maybe I would wait a day or two before spilling the beans. I had about two weeks before Christmas to locate the missing coat. Even then, would he return it?
Up and down the streets of my city I drove, looking for some hombre wearing a new cashmere coat that once belonged to me. No luck.
I finally broke the news with a newfound spirit of Christmas. My coat was now being worn by someone who might have otherwise chilled out that winter.
Tom Vartabedian
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