August 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
I undertook a monumental task last night at home and in the process, made two astounding discoveries. One made my eyes tear up a little and the other made me smile. Let me set the scene properly for you: Me, striding gallantly into my bedroom. I fling the door open, march straight in, and stop in the center of the room. I stand very still, as if I’m expecting to be attacked. My eyes dart from side to side and my shoulders are tensed for action. Nothing happens though. Okay honestly I’m just eyeing up the piles of clothing that have accumulated on my bedroom floor. I won’t let them beat me, though! I WILL PUT THEM ALL AWAY.
I did it too. I folded every single item, straightened out more than one, tossed a few in the hamper, and hung some up in the closet. And in the middle of all of this boring cleaning, I made my first discovery, a very sad one. My favorite jeans, the Charlotte Russe ones I’ve had for over 5 years now, are giving up the ghost. They’re a light demin color and I’ve worn them until they’re soft as spun sugar and torn wide open at the knees. They have frays in the rear area. The seams are tearing away from the weight of the pockets and soon if I wear them, you’ll be able to see- ahem, well, anyway demin is not meant to be see-through. The idea that my Charlotte Russe jeans (I always call them that, even though I own 3 pairs of their jeans) are finally conceding defeat to the strain they’ve endured was enough to make me gasp out loud and sit down abruptly on my bed. I held them up in front of me with a critical eye. There’s a fine line, you see, between “Oh I can wear them and just call them artfully frayed. People will think I’m punk!” and “Oh. Um yes you can see my underwear through the seams of my jeans and yes they are polka-dotted”. A fine line, indeed. But I don’t want to get rid of my Charlotte Russe jeans!! They hold memories! I wore these jeans all over the Appalachian Trail, the weekend we hiked 16 miles and I didn’t shower for over 48 hours! I was wearing them on that fateful day balancing on the river bank with Danny, where I proclaimed loudly that I never fell, then promptly slipped and tumbled down the muddy hill. For heavens sake, I wore them the night I met Sidney Crosby and the day I went to Penn State and the first time I tried sushi! My Charlotte Russe jeans simply cannot be dying. I refused to accept it.
A few minutes (or was it days?) later, I had regrouped and was continuing to hang stuff up in my closet when I made my second discovery, something that almost made up for the tragedy of the Charlotte Russe jeans affair. I found my blue sweater. I found my favorite blue sweater!! It had been missing for over two weeks!! I saw a glimpse of the bright sky-blue color peeking out from underneath several jumbled tanks and t-shirts and I dove for it right away. I pulled it out of the pile with a triumphant yell and clutched it to my chest. Somehow that silly sweater had hidden itself in the wrong drawer and then scurried to the very back corner of it! I scolded the sweater gently for scaring me into thinking I’d lost it and then hung it up in my closet, giving it a loving pat as I did so. It’s so pretty, my favorite blue sweater. Soft and warm and the prettiest sky-blue you ever saw. I love blue clothes. Bright blue sweaters to warm your cold hands on a windy day in October, or navy blue tank tops that match your white shorts on a hot day at the boardwalk, or even the soft worn blue of cherished denim… like my Charlotte Russe jeans!!
Oh darn it now I’m sad again.