My Dear Black Dex Shrug Tunic Top, I’m going to miss you.
Let’s admit it- when I first saw you, it wasn’t exactly love at first
sight. You were squished in among all the last bits and leftovers of last
year’s Spring Sale at The Bay, and you’d been marked down again and again and
again. You were hanging out with lilac-coloured, elasticized old lady pants and
a leopard print lycra & lace bustier. Not exactly a best first impression, wouldn’t
you agree? Still, I pulled you out and gave you a once over. You were
interesting- I’ll give you that- but let’s be honest, I was hesitant to add you
to my try-on pile. You were an XS, and it’s no secret that my days of XS are
long gone; you were viscose and we all know how I feel about viscose- so
luscious at first, but soon, after a wash or two, it gets moody and wrinkles
and balls; and the biggest turn-off was the intimidating truth that I was so so
confused by all your scrunches and ruches and ties. I didn’t know what to make
of you.
But I gave you a try, and you, my faithful friend, were a winner. You
fit so nicely- snug but not too snug. You showed off my back (my self-professed
best feature). You were a wonderful length, covering my bum just enough so I
could wear skinny pants without looking like a wanna-be teenager or one of
those red-derriered baboons. You were a black somewhere between opaque and
translucent- not too heavy but not too see-through. You were, in many respects,
perfect. You became my go-to, a regular in the wardrobe circulation, dressed up,
dressed down, layered or all alone, and oh so comfortable.
Remember, dear friend, that you were my choice for the plane ride across
the pond, for that first date with some boy, and for an important interview. I
believed in your ability to make any mediocre outfit dynamite. So yesterday,
when it came time to get ready for the latest art event, I naturally turned to
you.
But, all done up from head to toe, I stood for a moment in the natural
morning light and took a look at myself in the full length mirror, and then I saw
the truth- a truth, I fear, that has been there a while now but that I have
been so selfishly denying.
You didn’t look good.
You were all pilled, little balls of viscose lint dotting your surface, collecting
in the areas where you’d too often rubbed up against purses and jackets, threads
were poking out, and bits of this and that stuck into your roughened surface.
I was embarrassed. I couldn’t leave the house like that.
But I had a vision, and you were part of it, and I thought to myself,
there must be a way to save this, a way to make this right. I brought out the sweater
shaver, hoping its tiny little blades would restore you to all your garment
glory, but those blades didn’t know the difference between the good and the bad
and the rough and the smooth, and they punctured your fine viscose skin,
tearing open one, two, three holes. “Oh no. Oh no,” I cried. I put you back on
and smoothed you and creased you and scrunched you, trying to hide those holes
so nobody could see the damage I’d done.
It was no use.
I had to admit it was over. In my desperation for you to remain a
wardrobe regular, in my eager attempt to keep you with me, I brought about your
demise.
This was a long time coming. I’d ignored your wish to be hand-washed far
too many times. I’d dropped you in the corner of the room and left you there
for days on end. I knew at some point it would come to this, but I didn’t think
it would be so soon. Not now. Not like this. I wasn’t ready.
Still, I say good-bye to you, my dear Black Dex Shrug Tunic Top. I wish
you a long and content after-life as a rag folded neatly in a drawer somewhere.
Thanks for the good times. You will be missed.
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