Last fall, I set my sights on a new coat. It wasn’t just any old coat, of course, but an electric-blue Goal Weight Magic Trench Coat that I immediately called “my Sgt. Pepper’s coat.”
I imagined all of the antics my coat and I would get up to; the places we’d explore, the mischief we would manage. I’d found my Magic Coat at French Connection, and just as I was imagining my Trench Coat and I running off into the sunset after Gold Thieves a la Young Guns, I saw the price.
French Connection, I hear you Pranksters saying, why the shiballs would YOU Aunt Becky, shunner of all things fashionable, care? I mean, you own a NECKLACE with your NAME on it. Not very high fashion.
And I’d say, “Pranksters my love for French Connection is a long-standing. I’ve loved them more than I’ve loved anything else, ever. A company that could be so brazen, hilarious, yet refined at the same time is right up my alley.”
Oh Pranksters, let me show you why:
The full name of the company is “French Connection, United Kingdom,” and I am classily showing you why I care very, very much for this company.
Trust me, you wear this puppy in public and people stare. You’re using profanity without using profanity.
I own several FCUK shirts that say things like, “Bourbon FCUK,” “Too Busy To FCUK,” and “FCUK Me.” They rule.
Also: I put the “ass” in “classy.”
Anyway, my brilliantly gorgeous coat which, I should say, is not emblazoned with the “FCUK” moniker, well, it eventually went on sale. When the price dropped to $75, I decided it was Action Time.
Gleefully, I ordered my Magic Coat.
When it arrived, I hung it in my closet as added incentive for me to reach my Goal Weight. I’d see it magically hanging there, ensconced in plastic and remind myself that, hey, I didn’t need to eat bullshit food. Not when I had a jaunty blue Magic Coat eagerly waiting for me to wear it.
Weather in Chicago is one of three things: Ass Hot, Ass Cold, and Construction, and it’s been Ass Cold since I bought the coat. It wasn’t until this weekend that I had a chance to pull my jaunty Magic Trench Coat out.
I’d made my goal weight*
It took a couple of hours for me to finally put my hands in the pockets of the Magic Trench Coat, and when I did, I was shocked when my fingers came across something. I’m not a person who uses my pockets as actual STORAGE (unlike my mother, who keeps the equivalent of a rolling suitcase in her pockets), so it was odd to feel ANYTHING.
I pulled out this mysterious object. Was it a bomb? A pen? A wad of used tissues? The Lindbergh baby?
A set of car keys.
Not MY car keys. Not Dave’s car keys either. Not car keys that belong to ANYONE I know.
My Magic Trench Coat came with a free car. A free Jaguar.
That coat really IS magic.
Now…I just have to find my car. Perhaps THAT is what my Epic Road Trip will involve: finding my new car. It’s not technically stealing if I own it already, right?
*probably. I don’t weigh myself.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve found, Pranksters?