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A Tale of Two Swaps
by Jasmine Courneya
Prior to seeing an oh-so-darling handbill about an upcoming
clothes swap, I was reluctantly getting geared up to go down
to the ol’ Lansdowne mall for some new summer duds.
The reality would have been me, alone and flustered, (I am
normally very secret and private about my new clothes shopping)
getting a headache from the chaotic ridiculousness of the
mall, spending $30 or more for a tank top that was too small.
So, off to the a clothes swap. Admittedly, I was drawn mainly
by the mysterious call for inventiveness: bring brunchy drinks.
Rosa and I got our clothes together, and walked across
town (carrying our freshly minted and iced lemonade) into
a joyous scene - a giant pile of clothes with babies in the
middle, lots of illustrious female characters and a couple
of men and kids.
The lovely Alice was onstage, conducting an enticing,
entertaining variety show - that is, standing on the bed trying
on clothes, waving them around or throwing them at people
thought to best suit the item at hand. If it didn’t fit or
you didn’t like it, back in the pile, there was bound to be
something else.
The event was just organized enough to be fun and still exciting,
though I did get a little outta hand over Serena’s
old navy blue vintage dress - Oooh ooh ooh! ME me me!
I got some choice items, and took much more than I brought.
Felt I made some new friends, even if only though them thinking
I was the one for the 1940’s housewife dress.
It feels nice to pass things on, especially if you’re still
attached to something but know you’ll never wear it. At least
this way you might see it again someday walking down Hunter
Street.
Now... Clothes swaps are not always thus. A week or two after
the luxurious swap, I heard rumour of not only a clothes swap,
but also a things and stuff swap.
I made it to the hostess’s small backyard, to find no one
having fun (yet?), and the confusion began instantly.
I gravitated to the cool cigarros cubanos box with jewellery
in it and picked out some beautiful opal earrings. I was holding
them in awe when the owner piped up and said they were hers
was then asked to lay out my clothes please.
There wasn’t anything too stellar, (I had exhausted the stash
at the previous swap). She perused them in a business-like
manner and didn’t want any of it. No swap.
The event went on in this miserly way, although some people
were free and easy enough - ‘you can have that’
‘don’t worry about it’; the whole affair was regimented
- rules and etiquette to follow about which I had no idea.
The gathering didn’t yield much loot or joy.
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