"Well," Jerry chuckled at Jim's eccentricity and strange choice of outfits, "those little league uniforms sure do look like a perfect fit for me."
Jerry, humoring the enthused manager, pointed to the multitudes of the visibly undersized baseball uniforms meant for someone less his age and more like someone young enough to be a little league player. Each uniform - accompanied by a pair of gloves and a ball cap - was sealed in a cellophane bag; the transparent wrapping revealed what Jerry could only assume were shipping tags -- they all listed the names of the many boys whose parents must've ordered them but had, for some inexplicable reason, never arrived, or so Jerry speculated; "Carl, 8", "Jake 11", and "Dean, 9" were but only a few of the many tagged names he could read.
"They're all gonna fit you just fine, you have my word on that!" Jim said earnestly. "Tell you what: if you don't walk out of that fitting room with a perfect fit, you can have anything you want from my store, free of charge! What do you say?"
As much as he wrestled with the suspicion that this eccentric salesman was messing with him, Jerry felt like the offer was enticing enough for a try.
"In that case, I'll pick..."