Do you have a favorite article of clothing? I think everyone does. It’s different for each person — all a matter of preference and personality really. But whatever it is (are you thinking of yours?), it’s something that gives immediate comfort or a much needed ounce of confidence. Am I right? Of COURSE I am. Just ask my sisters … I’m always right.
My favorite? … the thing I am IN LOVE with today? … is my pajama top. Oh I love it! I love it. I. Love. It. And sadly … I think I’m going to have to retire this most beloved possession for reasons I’ll show you in a moment (hence this tribute).
I bought this long-sleeve tee on my first trip to Park City, UT. I was a freshman at BYU and my sister came to town and wanted to ski. Me ski? No way. Too freakin scared. But I waited while she ate snow all day AND busted her knee really bad (one more reason not to ski) and after it was all said and done, I needed a souvenir to remember it all by of course. And well, this navy tee looked “cool” to me for some reason. And I wore it a-LOT. I have a scrap book full of freshman memories and most of them are of me in this T-shirt. Whatever.
But no matter how the wardrobe changed, and luckily it has, this shirt was always in the bottom drawer with the rest of the jamms. I took it home with me every summer break and then hauled it back out to UT to meet a new semester of new classes and new roommates. It traveled to Washington to go on a mission with me. And it happily hopped into the tower of boxes that followed me after college as I ventured out into the land of grown-ups.
Eventually the bottom hem unraveled and somewhere along the way the screen-printed “Park City” on the chest began to flake. What began as one hole, all of a sudden became a dozen. It stopped holding its shape. And began holding mine. But that’s when it got good. You know? When the cotton got really soft and thin–all broken in and just right.
We’re going on 11 years now, me and my tee. It’s been cried on, drooled on, sweated on. It’s stayed up with me on all my insomniac-ical nights. And I’ve been putting off that day–the day when I’d have to retire this goody. Actually, I don’t think there will ever be a day when I voluntarily give it up. The only way this shirt won’t go to bed with me is if its threads give up the ghost and fall to the floor when I put it on. That or it disintegrates in the washer (which is very possible considering the state of the fibers). I’m like a 4-year-old who’s just been told she has to hand over her bink. It’s been with me 11 years! 11 years! I can’t just toss it into the dustbin! (dude I need a husband don’t I?!).
Well … without further adieu … my pajama top …