The temperature has plunged into the 80's during the day now, which, of course, signals the annual retrieval of winter clothes from the attic. Cozy sweaters, wool slacks, outerwear of all sorts all get a once-over for signs of deterioration or worse yet, deterioration of style. Keepers are dry cleaned or washed, fluffed and folded, carefully closeted or drawered until the mercury slips below the 60 degree mark. The rest make their way to Catholic Charities.
Ah, but there, in the bottom of a plastic storage bin, I found it. My big, ugly, comfy shirt...or whatever it is. I love my big ugly comfy shirt. It defies all sense of style or reason, but I love it just the same. I love it because I got it for $5 from a clearance rack of clearance racks at Marshall’s. After a day of trying on nothing that fit or looked good, there it was, with all its promise. One size fits most, no notice of my bumps and curves and places that don’t fit most of anything. Big, formless, totally lacking in style and chic, it looked like a big warm hug. And who couldn’t use one of those?
I love it because it’s, well, comfy....made of light sweatshirt material, and even more shapeless than the average sweatshirt. Sleeves that on a normal size person might have been 3/4 length are just barely above the wrist on me, and I like that, too.
It’s fuzzy and warm on the inside and nondescript battleship grey on the outside. It falls just a few inches above my ankles, which means there’s plenty of it to pull my feet up inside of when I curl up on the couch on a cold night.
I can’t imagine why someone would think to design, much less market such a shapeless, unimaginative garment, but I’m glad they did. I’m glad whoever it was put in pockets that happen to be right where my hands hang at my side, so I don’t have to reach for them. The pockets make as little sense as the rest of the thing, but I love them too, just the same.
It’s starting to show signs of wear...a few holes here and there, a few seams starting to unravel. But that’s ok. I’m showing a few signs of wear myself these days. And I know it won’t last forever. One day, it will be beyond repair, and I will, reluctantly, have to let it go.
But for now, there’s a nip in the air, November is just moments away, and we’re heading into another winter together, my big ugly comfy shirt and me.
I'm trying to get back in the habit of writing every day. Lately, I've been working on character sketches. Some of those will find their way here, in the form of individual comments to this post.
Comments
Ah, but there, in the bottom of a plastic storage bin, I found it. My big, ugly, comfy shirt...or whatever it is. I love my big ugly comfy shirt. It defies all sense of style or reason, but I love it just the same. I love it because I got it for $5 from a clearance rack of clearance racks at Marshall’s. After a day of trying on nothing that fit or looked good, there it was, with all its promise. One size fits most, no notice of my bumps and curves and places that don’t fit most of anything. Big, formless, totally lacking in style and chic, it looked like a big warm hug. And who couldn’t use one of those?
I love it because it’s, well, comfy....made of light sweatshirt material, and even more shapeless than the average sweatshirt. Sleeves that on a normal size person might have been 3/4 length are just barely above the wrist on me, and I like that, too.
It’s fuzzy and warm on the inside and nondescript battleship grey on the outside. It falls just a few inches above my ankles, which means there’s plenty of it to pull my feet up inside of when I curl up on the couch on a cold night.
I can’t imagine why someone would think to design, much less market such a shapeless, unimaginative garment, but I’m glad they did. I’m glad whoever it was put in pockets that happen to be right where my hands hang at my side, so I don’t have to reach for them. The pockets make as little sense as the rest of the thing, but I love them too, just the same.
It’s starting to show signs of wear...a few holes here and there, a few seams starting to unravel. But that’s ok. I’m showing a few signs of wear myself these days. And I know it won’t last forever. One day, it will be beyond repair, and I will, reluctantly, have to let it go.
But for now, there’s a nip in the air, November is just moments away, and we’re heading into another winter together, my big ugly comfy shirt and me.