It was 1999--scarce days before the Millennium. Down from the Smokey Mountains strode a wizened man in a faded pair of dungarees. He picked up the watercourse of a gurgling river, and followed its winding path down through the foothills. Then he came to a small town. Dungaree, King of Fashion, had returned to the world to make his mark.
There was a great deal of excitement when the new man came to town. The ladies discussed him over coffee, over cheese, and even at the hairdressers or over the phone. And some (that were not ladies) discussed him over extra dry martinis.
Rachel worked at the post office; at least she went there every day. The sight of Dungaree, in his faded dungarees, made her heart leap within her breast; it also brought a rosy flush to her pink cheeks. It did not take long for her to exert her womanly charms, and he soon accepted an invitation to dine at her home.
She hired maid service to make her home spotless...and to dispense with some old jewels she no longer wore. She allowed an old interior decorator friend to upgrade the ambience of her place. She had her hair done in an avante garde style. She was beautiful, beautiful. Even the most jaded folks found themselves stunned by her pulchritude--(ahem).
Her doorbell rang, and there he stood before her, jaunty and lazy-like in his faded blues. "How do you like my dungarees, Rachel?" said Dungaree, (King of Fashion), by way of stimulating the conversation.
"I love them, Dungaree", she replied. "They are you". Her heart was singing as she stood pittering and pattering, and as she waited for him to compliment her hair. Truly, she had found her soul mate.
"How do you like these cuff links, Rachel"? Do you think they are back in style, or should I put them away for a couple of years"?
Oh! He was so charming. "The cuff links look very handsome on you, Dungaree!". Having said this, Rachel licked her upper lip in a sensuous gesture, and she waited for Dungaree to compliment her hair...but he was already buttering a bun at the table.
For the next hour they talked about dungarees and Dungaree, and Dungaree's dungarees. Rachel never saw him again.
Over the next several months, most of the woman in the little town took their turns at dating Dungaree. None dated him twice. They waited for him to say: "your hair is very pretty!", or "the color of your dress matches your eyes!", or "you really have a glow about you tonight!". But Dungaree was a King of Fashion, and his sole concern in life was Dungarees...and Dungaree.
One night a mysterious man appeared at Dungaree's door and rang the bell. He was dressed in exquisite style--all his clothing perfectly appointed. His message to Dungaree was brief. "Merry Christmas. I have left a garbage can in your yard as a present; and beside it a magnum of the cheapest sherry. All you need now is a fire to keep your hands warm". Before the slow witted dungaree could even reply, the handsome stranger was climbing into a stretch limosine with subtle lettering which read "SOLON OF ATHENS".
It was so late, and Solon was so tired, that Dungaree simply retreated to his couch, and lay down in deep reflection and contemplation. He realized that he had been bad, and that he was not fashionable. He then stumbled to his feet, walked slowly to the mirror--and removed his mask. Suddenly, he saw that he was ok, he really was...but he would have to do something about those abominable dungarees. Tomorrow he would call Rachel. The two of them would leave the dungarees behind...and explore together where fashion begins...and where it ends.
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