They catch my eye in the store. They are so pretty. They call to me, “Pssst! Hey you! Over here! Touch me! You know you want to — I’m soft, you’ll like it. Trust me.”
Never trust a sweater, trust ME on this.
And like a sailor who can’t resist the call of the Sirens, I am unable to resist the call of the sweaters.
So I sidle over to the rack and pull out just the sleeve of one lovely heather grey cashmere and yes, I confess, I pet it, right there in TJMaxx. And then I rub it lightly on my cheek. I pull it from the rack and free it from the acrylic and cable knits and the lesser sweaters. I hold it up. To my heart. I sniff it! I embrace it! And yes! Yes! Yes! It is soft. It is beautiful. And then I imagine for a moment that I too will be soft and beautiful wearing it.
I waltz The Sweater to the register, stopping to dip only once. Then I hand over my credit card signifying my promise to love The Sweater forever. I place the new heather grey love of my life right next to me on the car seat, patting and stroking it as I drive it home where we will begin our life together. Joy abounds.
When I get The Sweater home, I put it on. I look in the mirror. I am soft and
The next day, things begin to sour between The Sweater and me. The Sweater is high maintenance. The Sweater is needy. The Sweater wants to be washed. By hand. With special soap. Or better yet, The Sweater wants to be taken to the dry cleaners, which we all know is just a spa for sweaters. If anyone is going to the spa, it’s me and not The Sweater.
I sigh loudly and then I run a warm bubble bath for The Sweater.
The Sweater can’t go in the dryer like the other laundry. Oh no, The Sweater wants to be laid out flat to dry, on a special little hammock, not for just one, but two days. The Sweater needs to reshape in a quiet place. The Sweater must not be disturbed. Be quiet! Do not talk to The Sweater — it is lying flat and reshaping and can not be bothered.
After The Sweater has fully recovered from its singular wearing experience, I must now find The Sweater a suitable abode. The Sweater cannot just move in with the t-shirts! No, The Sweater has to have its own place, preferably something with cedar.
And that’s when I have had enough of The Sweater. The Sweater no longer controls me.
I slam dunk The Sweater into a plastic bin, along with Sweaters past, and then I shove the lid down tight so I can’t hear their screams. I turn and walk away. I no longer care about the needs of The Sweater. I’ve lost that loving feeling for The Sweater, for all sweaters. I promise myself that I won’t be fooled by a high maintenance sweater again. It will forever be wash-n-wear for me!!
I still have feelings for my Hanes t-shirts.
6 comments:
Holley, You are seriously hilarious! Once again, I sit here in my family room, read your blog on my laptop and have a permagrin on my face. Thanks.
Holley your are hillarious but really weird sometimes. I think you have been locked up in NC to long. Just kidding. I love it though. It is funny I just don't think that I have ever loved any clothing that much.
I am totally cracking up! You managed once again to bring a lasting smile to my face with your clever and witty humor.
Oh, and thanks for your comments on the blog about my mom. You are sweet to say such nice things about me. I hardly feel I have endured anymore than anyone else. We all have struggles and trials - it's part of life. Anyway, thank you! You're great!
I'll trade you the sweater for Garrett. Talk about high maintenance, lately he's definitely not a wash and wear kid.
Was that a parable of some sort? Way funny! I think that way about all of my credit card purchases....what's wrong with me?
Your description reminded me of Tommy Boy when he's going persuading the waitress to fire up the grill and cook wings....do you know what I'm talking about. Also funny...but you're funnier. Katie
Holley, hope you don't mind me snooping around on your blog. BUT YOU ARE SO DARN FUNNY!! ;
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