It didn’t happen, but i almost wish it had.

En route from Atlanta to Asheville, we stopped at Clarksville, Georgia for lunch at a neat place called The Attic.

We wound through the delightfully old-fashioned interior to sit outside. It was lovely. The hostess, waitress was delightful. The food was excellent.

Across from us, sitting alone at a small table was an attractive middle-aged woman, obviously well heeled by her dress except for one item. Her fashionably hip jeans were torn in numerous places.

I wondered what if. i wanted to take a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet, walk over, and give it to the lady and explain i didn’t want her to have to wear old, torn jeans.

i determined i would get slapped or worse and decided not to do it.

Still, if i run across this situation again, maybe, maybe…