COINCIDENCES
“Guess what? John wants me to grill hamburgers at his barbecue,” Randy said. He didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “Don’t you consider that—a—a privilege?” “Not when I have to wear my ordinary jeans and a T-shirt,” Randy grumbled. “I don’t have any chef wear…” “What do you need that for??” “Oh, come on, Brad. Everybody always wears chef’s aprons and chef’s smocks and stuff when they operate a grill, especially when there’s other people around to comment on the outfit!” That sounded kind of absurd, but we live in Hoffman Estates, so it made sense, in a strange kind of way. “All right, let’s look at this practically. Where are you going to find a chef’s outfit?” Randy sheepishly turned partially away. “Uh—I was hoping I could borrow yours…” “No can do,” I reminded him. “Mine’s now at Goodwill.” I could see the disappointment in his eyes. The Goodwill outlet was 20 miles outside of town in Aurora. “There must be something I can do,” he said. “Why don’t you have Lisa make one for you?” Randy’s wife Lisa occasionally knitted dresses for their school-age daughter Kirsten. “Uh—I don’t—think she knows how to make a chef’s outfit.” I was going to ask Randy if he had even asked her, when the door opened and my little son Wally came into the house. He had been to a school rummage sale with several of his little friends. “Look what I found, Dad!” He triumphantly held up a complete chef’s outfit, with the hat, the harsh slogan on the apron, the whole nine yards. Randy and I exchanged glances and laughed.