I posted a picture on the North Minneapolis virtual garage sale page along with the following plea:
ISO a belt like this one that I can buy or borrow for the Def Leppard concert Friday night.
“If no one comes through, check out 7 Mile,” said an administrator of the site. “They have belts like that for about $8.00.”
The next day, Husband and I set out for 7 Mile in North Minneapolis in search of my rock ‘n’ roll belt.
One foot in the store and I spied the belts hanging in the back, but clothing racks along my route snagged my attention.
“Nice,” I said, pulling out a pair of running leggings. “Thicker than I would've guessed. And only $11.99?”
Husband plucked a Dickie’s work shirt from a nearby shelf.
“That looks like you,” I said.
Then I spotted a romper in the next aisle and picked up a hat to go with it. “I want this outfit. Take a picture of it, will you?”
Husband snapped a photo, but then I remembered my many trips around the sun. Maybe three decades ago…
I headed for the belts, but the next aisles lured me. Wigs, weaves, and extensions of all kinds. I poked through the goods. I had always imagined showing up at an event with a ponytail as long as Marcia Brady’s. Two women who spoke Somali peered at the same packages I was eyeing. Maybe they had the same idea too.
Lost in the varying hair shades, but finding none that matched my particular blonde, I stopped myself. What was I doing? I had come for a belt.
I made a beeline to the back of the store. Belts of all colors hung like party streamers, and I grinned like a six year old as I sifted through the array, sparkles and studs abounding. My gaze landed on The One. Black genuine leather with grommets. Only $5.99. Then I frowned.
“Do you have any more sizes than these?” I asked the manager.
“Sorry.” He rattled off something in Spanish into his headset, then turned back to me. “We’re getting more in two weeks.”
An employee approached him. “A guy just stole a t-shirt.”
The manager jogged away.
“I can trim the belt for you at home,” said Husband.
At the checkout counter brimmed more temptations.
Husband pointed to some phone charging cords. “Only $3.99. We should get a couple of these to replace the ones that were stolen.”
Several nights earlier, our security camera had captured six guys rifling through our Jetta in the driveway. The only time we had forgotten to lock the car and just like that, our charging cords had flitted from our lives.
I wrinkled my nose. “Oh, that’s right.”
At least 7 Mile had us covered. We paid for our goodies and exited the store.
“I’m coming back here,” I said, smiling at Husband.
“I know you are.”
7 Mile Discount Clothing and Beauty Supply is located at 611 W. Broadway Ave., Minneapolis, MN, 55411
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*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.