The tie

It dangled around his neck. Hung over his chest. Two long strands of French silk, one thick the other thin. Both the color of gold bricks in the movies when the thieves ron them from the vault. It cost $375 “But if your going to have just one tie…” the salesmen had reminded him. The salesmen who had so deftly picked it from a display case who carried so gingerly in both hands so it not to fall or break, the way one might carry an expensive bottle of wine or perhaps a baby bird. The salesmen who waited for Dan’s acknowledgement before saying “Allow me, sir” and slipping the tie over Dans neck and tied a perfect Windsor knot faster than he nines was possible before straightening the knot slightly, sweeping lint off of Dan’s shoulder and stepping out of the way so Dan could see himself in the full length mirror. The tie was miraculous, It hung straight as a golden arrow. Stopped just above his belt buckle. So light Felt as if it wasn’t even there. He thought this is the way presidents must feel, or lords, dukes? Earles? Wondering if he was English and had an estate in turn of century England what moniker he would bare. But $375 he thought, A thought which disappeared completely when, Dan having not replied tot the salemens first inquiry tried again. “Does it meet with your satisfaction, Sir” “It’s perfect” Dan said. And he believed it as the salesmen wrapped the tie in crinkly blue paper and put it in the small bright orange bag, as he drove home thinking about the formal dinner party, not a usual third date, the way she had said so casually, as if an afterthought, oh and you need to wear a tie, as he had hung it round his neck, under the starched white collar, but now, as he held one strand of French silk in either hand he was at sa complete loss for how they were suppose to knot together.