The three dollar polo shirt

I have to give credit where credit is due. Growing up, my brother and I had really nice clothes. Lots and lots of Polo and izod (pre lacoste crap). My mother had no problem buying us tons of really nice things, and here's why. Sybil invented her own exchange policy for clothes to make them last forever.  I get my new rugby caught on a tire swing ripping the back to shreds, no problem. Sybil will just bring it back and say it came that way. Lewis drops a meatball on his khakis, again, not a problem. Sybil will just march right into Macy's and say the pants came that way and she didn't notice at the time of purchase. If you did the math on how many times she would return the same item of clothing for a new version or in some cases the next size (we were growing), the average price she paid for a polo shirt was at best three dollars.

Thanks to my mom, I'm still wearing this shirt.

Editor's note:

As good as Sybil was at returning things, she did once fail. When my brother was maybe nineteen ten, my mother bought him a yellow polo bathing suit with a blue horse on it. I'm not sure if a string became loose or what, but my brother in an OCD rant insisted Sybil go return it for a new one. This suit came from Bloomingdales back when fancier people than you shopped there. The sales staff was not prepared for my mother's antics. Sybil marched into the plus size children's section and insisted the store clerk give her a new suit because this one was defective.  I remember the exchange like it was yesterday:

Sybil: Look at this suit.  It is falling apart and my son hasn't even worn it yet.

Store Clerk: Ma'am it looks like the suit has been worn and washed multiple times.

Sybil: I don't know what you are talking about.  This is exactly how it came. Are you calling me a liar?  

Store Clerk: You don't have any tags or a receipt. Let me get my manager.

Sybil: Yes, I think you should.  

The sales clerk disappeared for a second and returned with an impeccably dressed black man (no relevance to the story). The black manager picked up the suit and examined it.  His eye immediately brought to a shit stain in the mesh liner.  He looks at it.  He looks at Sybil.  She looks at it. She accepts defeat.

I think I eventually got the suit as a hand me down.