Button It, Babe!

What’s on my mind? Button, button, who’s got the button?

I was sitting in a public bathroom stall when - POP! - the button of my beige slacks flew off. I should have stitched and tightened that button months ago, but didn’t. 

Instead, I let it dangle precariously from my waistband, looser than a desperate divorcée on Tinder. It was only a matter of time until the inevitable, which was now. 

I quite liked that button. Although I hadn’t seen it escape, I’d heard it bounce on the floor. It was quick, but I was almost as quick. Palm flat, fingers extended, I reached under the adjacent cubicle to SLAP! catch it on its second bounce.

Aside from the button, all I saw in that cubicle were two fat ankles. I said nothing; she said nothing - but I heard a little gasp. Swiftly withdrawing my hand, I clutched the button tightly. To the victor go the spoils. 

On returning home, the first thing on my agenda was to sew back the button. Removing my slacks and threading a needle, I found the exact place the button belonged on my waistband. Except that my button was still there, defying gravity and time, dangling loosely in the breeze. 

I hadn’t lost my button. Whoever owned those ankles, she had. 

©  Nicole Parton, 2020