i love wearing other peoples' clothes. isn't there something nice about a borrowed sweater, or that patched pair of jeans? i've got quite the collection of old flannels, shirts, sweaters, and even a pair of jeans or two. actually, even a skirt, maybe, from my sis... i know i hung on to a dress of her's for ages, but i'm pretty sure she has that back now. i did get a suit from her - i'd borrowed it so often that she just told me to keep it. it was her interview suit after college, and i think she got a little sick of it, having worn it to a ton of interviews. and she patched a pair of jeans for me, with a scrap of a freind's shirt - two kinds of batik, one on the knee, one on the butt - it killed me when i finally couldn't fit them anymore, but i swear they're still in my bureau, on the off chance i slim down that tush. actually, come to think of it, i think i have a few shirts from sammogee that weren't sacrificed to the denim gods...
i'm actually wearing a blue wool shaker sweater today; it might be my sweetie's, but i have a suspicion it's actually his brother's. i just snagged it the other day from the living room, 'cuz i was cold. slightly oversize items are the most fun to borrow, at least for me. there's something about knocking about in a long, floppy sweater that covers your ass and keeps it warm, plus it smells like someone else's cologne (the sweater, the sweater...). in a little way, it's as if you get to be someone a little different than your everyday self; you borrow a little of the personality along with the sweater. yeah, yeah, you're saying, knock off the philosophy crap. you're just a mooch. well, yes. yes, i am. and i'm okay with that, really. well, fine - it's equal parts mooch, play acting, dress up, and warm fuzzies (the emotional kind).
i've got another shaker sweater, this one black cotton with a little patched seam near the neck. this one i know i borrowed from my sweetie. the little mending job is mine (which is why it's a little sketchy); we were going to go out one night, to play pool i think, and i offered to sew up the part of the seam that had frayed open. that had to be love, because i don't even mend my own stuff. the sweaters of my own that start to fray become weekend wear, the stuff that gets dragged out on laundry day. aren't laundry day clothes a treat? i've actually run to the store in my nasty leggings, lumpy sweatshirt, clogs, and a baseball hat, and not cared that everyone stared at me like i was a thrift shop refugee. and the laundry day underwear... you know, that one pair that doesn't really fit, but you can't bring yourself to throw out, because you know you'll wait until the last *possible* minute to do your laundry, which means you've run out of underwear and have been wearing the same jeans for a week, and you don't actually find time to do the wash until the next day, so you always have to have that pair of desperation underwear that kinda rides up a little, it's so uncomfortable it forces you to schlep on down to the washing machine, and let's not even *talk* about how the desperation underwear looks with those leggings. it's not pretty, yo.
well, that was a bit of a tangent... i had to go to work last week at a concert, but didn't find out until after i'd gotten to the office, so wasn't appropriately dressed. (oh, yeah - you've already heard that story if you read about the Dylan concert.) i'm loving the shirt that peaches lent me. dirty little secret: i may just forget to give it back to her. i may just buy her a replacement shirt for Christmas. because, y'know, that's better than just giving it back and getting a new shirt for myself. of course, since you read here, peaches, that's not much of a secret anymore, is it? 8) she cracked me up when she dropped it off, because she apologized for it being a little faggy. it's got some silly twirly thingy embroidered on the points of the collar. of course, me being femme-y, this didn't really pose a problem for me. but she's right, it is *hard* to find a decent plain white shirt. it's like going on a mission to find water in the Sahara, shopping for a plain, non-fitted, non-textured, not-embroidered/sparkled/fringed, decent white cotton shirt, one that's not so thin that the neighbors could read your bra tag.
one of my favorite inherited shirts is a pale denim one from my sweetie. long story about how it got to be mine, but i love it, love it, love it. again, the shirts for guys are better. i've been unable to find a satisfactory oversize light denim shirt in any women's store or department. they're all rayon, or bright blue, or three-quarter sleeves... eh.
and the grey t-shirt i got from jim in college... that thing is barely holding together, but it's so soft and cuddly, and i think of jim every time i wear it. the gym shorts that went with it are long gone, as the elastic shit the bed (so to speak) after repeated washings. but that t-shirt is holding in, which is amazing if you know how long i've been out of college. go ahead. guess. i dare you. *g*
i used to have all kinds of sweaters from my grandfather, who died ...oh, geez... eight years ago? they never even came close to fitting (he was 6' or so, and i'm decidedly not), but they smelled like him, that mix of cologne and pipe tobacco and cedar and grampa. they're all gone now, some donated to Goodwill, some sacrificed to the moths despite storing them with cedar blocks. i'd love to have them back, just for one little sniff. i do still have a sweater that used to be my mom's, and i think my sis had it for a while, and now it's with me for a bit. it's a Scandinavian sort of design, red with white and black edging, such a thick knit that it's more like a jacket than a sweater. it's great in the winter to add a dash of color to my 95% black/grey wardrobe (hey, that way you can get dressed in a rush in the morning and it all still matches). with any luck, it'll last long enough that i can give it to my niece when she's older if she wants it, and then it'll be off to it's next life.