Emma Amiad recently recounted the frank opinion of a visiting potential real-estate client. That person was alarmed by the sloven and wild appearance of some island citizens.

I recognize the angst. I, too, found myself recently appalled.

We have a great thrift shop. I like being among the first in line at 10 a.m. to skim the pickings. After a late night shift, I awoke to find I had just enough time to secure my position. I jumped from bed, pulled on my sweatpants, and drove to Granny’s. After shopping, I headed to the village for errands. Up and down the grocery aisles I walked with other causally dressed persons. I stood in line there, the hardware store and post office. Finally I went home. My consumed large cup of coffee suggested the tinkle. I was sure these sweats had a zipper. Exploring behind, I discovered that not only had I put my pants on backwards, but the zipper was wide open. No one had said a thing to me of it all morning. At least I had my underwear on.

The next week I’m exposed to further outrage. Back up to the village for more errands, I tried to do better, first by checking my zipper for forward orientation and full-mast position. It was colder, so I adjusted the sweatpants to tie looser to go over my long underwear.

Stopping for petrol, I went to pre-pay. As I left to pump my gas, a big, burley guy approached to enter. The very moment I graciously held the door open for him, my loose sweats dropped to my ankles, leaving me standing in my long johns. He stared down, and then with eye contact asked, “Happy to see me?”

I was relieved Emma was not there with her guests. She might have commented, “Happens all the time here.”

— Donald Estelle