The Great Eddie Bauer Jacket Debacle

Every once in awhile I will splurge on a full-price article of clothing that I love and can't live without. Usually I follow the wise advice of waiting a few days after I first spot it and then going back to purchase it if I am still in love.

A year ago, I fell in love with an adorable olive/brown Eddie Bauer jacket. After a requisite two days of waiting and day-dreaming about how utterly adorable I would be wearing my new jacket...I went and bought it. It was a splurge; a luxury. I wore it every day for an entire week and received countless ego boosts from family, friends, and strangers when they would say, "Cute jacket! Where'd you get it?"

Well, one day, I took the jacket off and threw it carelessly on the floor of Matt's and my bedroom. The next morning, I climbed out of bed and immediately heard a distinctive crunch -- I knew before looking down what I had stepped on. And sure enough, as I bent down to examine the source of the noise, I realized I had crushed and broken one of the oversized buttons on the front of the jacket.

In typical Shelbi fashion, I had a mini-emotional meltdown. Collapsing on to the bed, clutching the jacket, and crying. I'm sure the conversation in our room that day went like this:

Matt: What?! What's wrong? Are you hurt? Where do you hurt?
Me: No...no...it's RUINED.
Matt: What's ruined?
Me: My jacket! My brand-new-couldn't-afford-it-anyway jacket. Waaaa----
Matt: How is it ruined?
Me: I broke a button -- I CRUSHED a button. This is why we can't have nice things!

*pause*

Matt: Doesn't it come with extra buttons?

*longer pause*

Me: Oh. (Suddenly chipper) Right. Of course. Now, where did I put those?

We went on a massive button hunt around our entire house. Not only did we look in obvious places (the place I keep buttons, duh -- counter tops -- our "miscellaneous household stuffs" bin), we looked in bizarre places too (under the couch, behind the TV, in Elliott's chest-of-drawers). And Matt's mantra of "it will turn up" kept getting under my skin more and more because, obviously, it was not turning up. After hours of of looking for the button, I was back to clutching the jacket in-between sobs and feeling sorry for myself.

I have to give my husband credit. When I am in the throes of a particularly weepy episode of self-pity, Matt has a split second to decide which road to take. Road A) Indulge me. Road B) Rebuke me. He was able to tell right away that this warranted indulging. So, he promised to drive out to Eddie Bauer the next day and get me a replacement button.

True to his word, Matt traveled back to the store, Elliott in tow, and asked about buttons. He described the jacket -- Elliott wiggling in his arms and batting at the sunglasses -- and the lady explained in an apologetic tone that they had sold out of those jackets the day before. Refusing to be defeated...or face me empty-handed...Matt went to another Eddie Bauer store twenty minutes from our house: No dice. He took down a customer service number and tried to call them: No buttons.

I was despondent with this news, but filled with a sudden sense of purpose. With my family in tow, Matt and I went to each Eddie Bauer store in the area. And finally, at the LAST one we went to, we saw the jackets...in my color! We asked the lady about replacement buttons. She told us they didn't carry extras and apologized. Of course, Matt and I could have stolen the button packet off of the jackets and been on our way. But then my cute jacket would be a jacket of dishonesty and I didn't want to live with that guilt.  We wanted the button the honest way: And when the worker at the Eddie Bauer told us she couldn't help us, I started to cry.

I'm sure it was the tears. The kind woman ripped the button packet off of one of the jackets for me and handed it over with a smile that reeked of pity and a strong desire to get me out of the store. "Thank you. Thank you!" I said. I was over-joyed. I was full of love and reaffirmed in the belief of human kindness. I skipped out of the store.

And then I forgot to fix my jacket.

Look, it's simple: I got pregnant. The jacket didn't fit very well after that. I stored the button in a safe spot and filed the chore away for this Spring -- when I wouldn't be pregnant anymore and I could wear it proudly again.

Today, I decided it was time to fix the jacket. While Matt was feeding Elliott and Isaac was sleeping in the bassinet, I grabbed the jacket from the garage and went to my little caddy on my bookshelf where I was storing the button for this occasion.

I pulled out the small manila envelope and the button fell into my hands. Then I looked back into the caddy and wondered, "Huh. What's in this other button envelope?"

Yup.

All this build-up just to tell you:

The original button packet? Tucked into the same hiding place where I put the replacement packet. THE SAME EXACT SPOT. Over the course of a year, the first button packet migrated and joined the second button packet.

How did this happen? I don't know. I honestly don't know.

Upon finding both buttons, I felt a bubbling of uncontrollable laughter. I walked up to Matt, both buttons in my hand, tears streaming down my face.

Matt: Laughing or crying?
Me: I--I--look...buttons...
Matt: Are you laughing or crying?

When it dawned on him what was in my hands, he didn't find it nearly as funny. For my husband, this seemed like a reassurance that I really am nearly senile and reassurance that he was right: It did turn up after all.