964. Open Letter to a Loyal Shirt

Dear Loyal Shirt,

I remember when we first met, at the mall of all places.  You beckoned me over from a metal rack where you were hanging out with your colorful comrades. 

I noticed you right away—your basic black hue, your stunning embroidered neckline, and your flattering boxy cut. 

You were different somehow, longer.  You offered more coverage than is typical, obscuring not just the tumucular region, but even offering a respite from the viewing of the hips.     

I knew I had to have you, and when I found out you were on sale (!), well, that was just the proverbial cherry on the whipped cream of my shopping expedition sundae. 

I got you home and for years you behaved even better than expected.  You had no qualms about accompanying me to work, school functions, even doctors’ appointments.  You could be counted on for holidays, vacations, sporting events, or trips to the grocery store.  You unilaterally embraced every climate; every raindrop or snowflake or ray of blazing sunshine was your pal.  You were flexible and could be paired with virtually anything in my closet:  denim jeans, floral print skirts, cotton khakis, plaid shorts, striped capris, even a formal interview suit.  You made numerous appearances in several family photos.   

You were my silent workhorse, my prized clothing chameleon. 

Until. 

There’s always an “until,” isn’t there? 

You know what I am talking about.  Don't pretend you don't.  The Husband made the grave miscalculation to …

No.  It’s too painful.  I can’t talk about it yet. 

… he made the grave miscalculation to put you in … the washer … and then … the dryer. ON HIGH HEAT. 

Has he never had a wardrobe component like you, Loyal Shirt?  I always dry cleaned you.  In fact, I know for a fact, factually speaking, that The Husband had accompanied you to the dry cleaner (for drop off AND pick up) on several occasions.  I have witnesses!  Gray Skirt and Navy Linen Dress had seen you there.  Red Cashmere Sweater Made In England told me you two stopped and had lunch.  Even Black Work Jacket had cozied up to you in the very same plastic bag. 

So what is one tumble in the dryer between friends, hmm?  After all we have been through together?  Why would you insist on shrinking up like that?  Why?  I always did treat you well, before this one isolated incident, I swear.  And you know it was not my fault anyway!  So why punish me?  Isn’t that like blaming the victim? 

Tell The Husband you are mad, don’t take it out on me when I am getting ready to have a conference with my sons’ principal and need to match you up with Boat Print Skirt.  You know that White Rayon Sweater shows every bit of deodorant or cat fur, how dare you even mention such a substitution. 

What I am saying is:  It’s over.  It is.  I, for one, wish it could be different, we all do.  The kids do (who wants to see their mom with deodorant or cat fur at school conference day?).  I know that deep in my heart of hearts, even The Husband wishes things turned out differently. 

Why?  Because I took his credit card and I am headed to the mall. 

It won’t be easy to replace you, but I’ll try. 

Your Loving Friend,
MOV