My Black Sweater
You are one of a kind.
You mask sweat lines like none of your business, you are wearable with every color*, you match my best skirt and my crummiest jeans, you are cool in the summer and warm in the winter, you have a subtle yet classic ribbed knit and best of all, you make me feel confident and pretty.
Together, we've traveled and gone grocery shopping. We've gone climbing and watched movies. Together, we've eaten too many cookies and baked bread and signed an apartment rental agreement and gotten a job and hiked slippery muddy trails and I’m pretty sure I wore you while sitting in at least six different doctor’s offices, all of which were insanely chilly.
When my brother was a wee child, he had a blanket trimmed in yellow lace. Day in and day out, my brother carried his blanky, his thumb threaded through the care tag on one corner. It followed him everywhere (at 18 he stills sleeps with blanky and he's going to kill me for telling you this) It probably also accompanied him to the bathroom, I can’t quite remember.
My point - Everybody has their own "blanky" and mine is you, my black sweater.
I realized something the other day...you’re worn out. There are pulls and nicks, not very tiny fuzzy bits all over, ‘fashionably loose’ has become ‘shapelessly baggy’ and an unidentifiable foreign object has stained itself permanently on your left sleeve.
An era has ended. Sure, it sounds melodramatic, but it’s the truth. You have been with me as I've changed from a shy young lady to a strong confident woman.
You’re going to go on the right-middle shelf of my closet, next to my Cabbage Patch twins and my little brown tea set with the cracked plate, because I don’t have the heart to toss you away.
In a few days, I’ll probably go shopping for your replacement. I’ll stand in front of the dressing room mirror and lament that black sweaters just aren't the same anymore. Maybe, if I’m feeling brave, I’ll admit that nothing is the same anymore. Being brave is hard though.
I probably won’t purchase your replacement for a while. Your arms are big arms to fill and, though I may be ready to let one era of my life end, I’m not quite ready for the next era to begin.
Thank you for everything. We've had some good times together, haven’t we?
Yours truly,
Janet
*well, navy blue clashes, but that’s all navy’s fault.
You mask sweat lines like none of your business, you are wearable with every color*, you match my best skirt and my crummiest jeans, you are cool in the summer and warm in the winter, you have a subtle yet classic ribbed knit and best of all, you make me feel confident and pretty.
Together, we've traveled and gone grocery shopping. We've gone climbing and watched movies. Together, we've eaten too many cookies and baked bread and signed an apartment rental agreement and gotten a job and hiked slippery muddy trails and I’m pretty sure I wore you while sitting in at least six different doctor’s offices, all of which were insanely chilly.
When my brother was a wee child, he had a blanket trimmed in yellow lace. Day in and day out, my brother carried his blanky, his thumb threaded through the care tag on one corner. It followed him everywhere (at 18 he stills sleeps with blanky and he's going to kill me for telling you this) It probably also accompanied him to the bathroom, I can’t quite remember.
My point - Everybody has their own "blanky" and mine is you, my black sweater.
I realized something the other day...you’re worn out. There are pulls and nicks, not very tiny fuzzy bits all over, ‘fashionably loose’ has become ‘shapelessly baggy’ and an unidentifiable foreign object has stained itself permanently on your left sleeve.
An era has ended. Sure, it sounds melodramatic, but it’s the truth. You have been with me as I've changed from a shy young lady to a strong confident woman.
You’re going to go on the right-middle shelf of my closet, next to my Cabbage Patch twins and my little brown tea set with the cracked plate, because I don’t have the heart to toss you away.
In a few days, I’ll probably go shopping for your replacement. I’ll stand in front of the dressing room mirror and lament that black sweaters just aren't the same anymore. Maybe, if I’m feeling brave, I’ll admit that nothing is the same anymore. Being brave is hard though.
I probably won’t purchase your replacement for a while. Your arms are big arms to fill and, though I may be ready to let one era of my life end, I’m not quite ready for the next era to begin.
Thank you for everything. We've had some good times together, haven’t we?
Yours truly,
Janet
*well, navy blue clashes, but that’s all navy’s fault.
P.S. Today is 10dpo.
Mine is a black cardigan.
ReplyDeleteYou should recycle it and make it into a blanket. That way you can still get comfy and cozy with your black sweater.
ReplyDeleteI like this idea!
DeleteAwww...I get it. Isn't it always the good ones that we rely on too much and then wear them out? (sweaters and....well, you get the idea)
ReplyDeleteBeing brave is hard though. Yes, yes it is.
ReplyDelete