Men, take warning and never go fur-shopping until you are entirely
familiar with the vernacular of the fur store. Listen to my tale of
woe. My wife requested that I buy a vermin fur piece for a Christmas
present. Later, when I asked the pretty blonde fur clerk if she’d show
me her vermin, she gave a look that made me feel like a spare tire on a
decootieized tin lizzie. Then I asked for some skunk and she called the
floor-walker. I asked him if he had charge of the skunk and he promptly
asked me out of the store. But the fresh air felt so refreshing and Mrs.
Bill still wears her cloth coat of the vintage of pre-war prices.
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