For some unknown reason, I've never been good with zippers. Give me a zipper and I can get a wad of clothing securely jammed in it within 20 seconds, usually after I've already zipped the shirt or jacket up to my chin. Then it takes the skill of Houdini to wriggle my way out of it.
On the plus side, if I'm ever confined to a straitjacket (which is a distinct possibility), I've had so much practice squeezing out of snug clothing, I'm pretty sure I'd be able to escape with very little effort.
I can't count the number of times I've run out of patience and just yanked the zipper apart with both hands, taking a big piece of material with it. As a result, many of my clothes have holes in some pretty unusual places.
And when I worked as a teacher’s aide for grades kindergarten through three and was assigned to jacket-zipping duty for the youngsters who hadn’t yet mastered the technique, many of those poor kids missed half of their recesses due my struggles to get their zippers to actually zip.
To be honest, they probably would have done a better job at zipping their own jackets themselves, even though they were novices.
Because of this, I strongly suspect I’m the main reason why the Velcro Company thought it might be a good idea to introduce its product for sale to the general public back in the 1950s.
A few years ago, while shopping in the mall, I saw a pair of black suede ankle-boots with zippers on the sides (a sure sign that I should have turned and run for my life) that I just had to have.
And foolish, naïve soul that I was, I bought them.
I loved those boots. They were comfortable and looked great with jeans. But right from the start, I had the sinking feeling they were doomed.
Sure enough, I'd had them only about a month when I, hurrying to get ready for an appointment one morning, quickly zipped the left boot with more force than necessary. The metal tab – the zipper pull – came off in my hand.
No problem, I thought. I'll just tie a piece of string or wire onto the zipper and use that to pull it up. That's when I discovered that the metal loop the tab had hooked onto was split in half.
At that point, with the zipper only halfway up, I grabbed my hairbrush and used the tip of the handle to force the zipper to the top of the boot. Then I rushed off to my appointment.
The funny thing about a zipper that's missing its tab is that it doesn't lock…and therefore, slides back down as you walk. By the time I arrived at my destination, parked my car and dashed through the parking lot, the boot was completely unzipped and nearly flopping off my foot. I was afraid I’d leave it lying on the asphalt somewhere and fully expose the lint-covered, pale blue sock I hadn't bothered to be fussy about when I got dressed earlier (because I’d figured my boot would hide it)…and then my foot would announce to the world, "Look, everybody! Sally's wearing a frumpy old sock that doesn't match anything she's wearing!"
I wasn’t about to stop wearing my favorite boots, however, so I searched online for a shoe-repair shop and found one within a half-hour from my house. Filled with hope, I shoved my precious boot into a bag and headed over there.
When I arrived, there was a customer ahead of me whose running shoe needed only two stitches. "It'll take about three days," the cobbler (shoe-repair technician?) said to him. "And it will cost $8."
I stood there mentally calculating how many stitches it would take to put in an entire new zipper and was up to about $84 when the cobbler asked if he could help me.
"I wrecked my zipper," I said, handing the boot to him.
He checked it over. "It still zips okay," he said. "But it won't lock anymore, so the zipper won't stay up."
I smiled weakly and said, "Yeah, I kind of figured that out on my own."
My boot was ready in a week, and it looked and worked as good as new, for a cost of less than $20. I was tempted to bring in the other boot and have him replace that zipper, too, just as a precautionary measure, because I figured its days also were numbered.
But so far, so good. The original zipper is still intact on that one.
Just because I haven’t destroyed that one zipper yet, however, I’m not allowing myself to get too cocky, especially considering my past history. In fact, just the other day I saw this new support-bra online for “mature” women who not only have problems with sagging, but also have trouble hooking their bras in the back due to mobility issues. My interest was piqued.
Until I noticed the bra zipped up the front.
The images my brain instantly conjured of me fumbling with that zipper on the bra and inevitably getting a certain body part caught in it, induced so much wincing, I immediately vetoed any and all thoughts of ever even trying on one of those torture devices.
That is, of course, unless they come out with a Velcro version…
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
