Clothes try to hide their wrinkles by squashing together on the Op Shop racks. Fur coat hangs forlorn, itching from the rusty hanger and typewriter looks in vain for her missing ‘L’, unaware it is wedged deep into the toe of the well-worn boot who continually tells tales of his travels from long ago even though he knows no one listens.
Antique lamps, vases, glasses, and plates put their noses in the air, hating the fact, they share the same shelf with the chipped, and cheap; unaware their own glaze has lost its lustre.
Poor Green Sleeves is missing a beat and lace bootee pattern will never be the same without all her instructions. Whilst her owner was busy knitting, her playful tabby scratched one purl, two knit and a cast-off from the page. Cradle rocks gently in the corner straining to hear sounds of tired infants, his many coats of paint chewed and worn.
Discarded buttons, brooches, and pins mingle with old and weakened cottons, all once used for their beauty and strength. Everything feels dusty, unloved, and useless, until Robyn arrived. Robyn spread excitement among the shelves and racks of the Op Shop’s inhabitants on her very first visit. It was the way she touched them, admired them. She saw their worth, their beauty that so many had forgotten.
The Op Shop is never a sad tired place anymore, every time Robyn steps into their crowded home, they forget their wrinkles, their shabbiness, the chips, and missing parts; they smile and sparkle hoping to catch her eye, hoping to be the next one chosen and if they’re not chosen today…there is always tomorrow.