O
nce a year, my mother drops off a bag of clothes. These clothes are from Fran, the wealthy neighbor from my youth.

Our family does not need tzedakah. Baruch Hashem, we are infinitely blessed. Both my husband and I are well educated and work at high-paying jobs. But let’s face it — after paying the mortgage, taxes, tuition, and the camp bills, there’s not much left. Couple that with a few daughters, one in shidduchim, and I don’t get to spend much on my wardrobe.

But even frugal shoppers need new clothes and shoes every so often. Sale days, coupons at Macy’s and Target, and the occasional trip to the thrift shop work just fine. No high-end shopping for me. I don’t pay much attention to the latest brands or fads.

But I do know a Burberry from a blueberry. I’m not totally oblivious when it comes to fine clothing. So the arrival of this bag, filled with clothes I cannot afford, is always one of the highlights of my year.

This year, when the black garbage bags arrive, I rip them open and unwrap the goodies. Escada dresses, Laurel suits, and Lacoste sweaters are just a few of the marvels I find. At the bottom of the bag is a really special treat. A Burberry coat. As I stroke it, I examine its fasteners.

Zipper works? Check.

Buttons all there? Check.

Belt attached? No belt loops, no belt attached. Check!

The coat is perfect.

What a gift!

I sheepishly scout my surroundings. No one is around. My daughters are all downstairs. I close the door, try it on, look in the mirror, and praise my good fortune. I don’t own a coat of this caliber nor do I seek to own a coat of this caliber. But it is here. It is on me. It is mine.

Baruch malbish arumim!

I stroll downstairs in my new coat, ready to do my son’s carpool in style. Heading toward the door, my kids stop whatever they’re doing and stare at my coat. They ask me about it; I tell them it’s the latest drop-off from Fran.

In less time than it takes for me to get my keys, my 12-year-old daughter has already researched the price of the coat online.

It was $1,600.

My daughters and I freeze. We all look at each other. Silence.

I don’t think my entire wardrobe is worth $1,600.

Breaking the silence, my 20-year-old coyly asks, “Anything for me in that bag?”

(Excerpted from Family First, Issue 638)