"I want you to do me a favor. Tonight when you get home from work, or today while the kiddos are napping, go find your clothing/footwear/accessory equivalent of my pajama top and take a picture of the revered item. Post the picture on your own blog tomorrow and tell us the story behind it. You don't have to link back to this post because I don't get fussy about stuff like that but please do come back and leave a comment so we can find and enjoy your stories."
The request was pretty specifically about clothing, accessories or footwear and I have simply never been one to get terribly attached to that kind of stuff. I outgrow the something, diet and by the time whatever the thing is fits again it's out of style or totally moth eaten. For the most part to me - it's just clothes.
MDH, on the other hand has 3 boxes in the basement filled with rotting concert t-shirts and such treasured items as the suit he wore when he went on his first job interview after college in 1987 when his waist was a size 32. He accused me of being heartless, barbaric and cruel when I suggested on my last purge that we should pack up his old size medium ski pants and give them to charity. I have known this man for 10 years and in this time he has never once even hinted at going skiing or been close to anything sized medium besides a pizza.
I purge my closet a couple of times a year and give away anything that I have not worn for 3 years to charity, so there is literaly nothing in my closet or any of my dressers that is more than 5 years old and nothing in particular that I couldn't part with if push came to shove.
It would figure that the one thing I have in my closet of any sentimental value to me has a story relating to my husband. I wore it on our first date. A blind date.
He took me to a UMass football game and mentioned in passing while we were making plans over the phone that the school colors were maroon and white so the night before our date I went out and bought this maroon cardigan. It wasn't expensive or particularly cute, but I wore it the next day with a long sleeved white t-shirt and khaki pants. When I met him for our date he was bowled over that someone he had never even met in person made the effort to wear the right colors.
He was impressed and the rest is history.
I wore it 3 or 4 times after the date before casually tossing it in my laundry basket, never realizing that it was wool. (I got at NY & Co. so I assumed it was acrylic or some other craptastic fabric.) Basically it turned into a hand puppet in the wash. I was able to stretch it out so that it was larger, but it remained freakishly mishapen. It's all mushy now and has texture not dissimilar to one of our cat's dried up hairballs. It's kind of gross.
I won't give it to charity though for fear that some poor and needy soul might actually buy this hideous thing and wear it in public.
You know if Gwen had asked me to make her a sandwich I would have sliced it into quarters, cut the crusts off and given her soup and an extra pickle spear on the side. That's how I roll. So even though they are not quite the kind of items she asked for here's a couple more pictures of things around the house that I'm sentimental about:
My little Baily's coffee cup. A present from my precious aunt Jesse
My teapot collection
There's more stuff, but if I don't hit publish right this instant I'm going to be late to meet my friend Rachel at the movies. Have a wonderful evening. I'm planning to. Please forgive any mispellings or grammatical errors. I've gotta haul ass.