“Pick an object from your room. Now describe it in as much detail as possible.” Not the most original writing prompt. I’ll roll with it though…
My gray hoodie is so thin, that if I hold it up to the light, I can see right through the threads. It’s the perfect summer cover-up for when the air conditioner is just a bit too cool. So light and soft, I can hardly feel it, but it does its job. The zipper is broken, the string is gone, and it’s barely holding itself together. I’m afraid to put it in the dryer because it’s become so delicate. But I love that “ratty hoodie,” as my husband calls it.
I also love it because it reminds me of a nice time. I bought it with my friend, Lana, from L.A. She’d just arrived in New Jersey and we’d taken a tourist-y detour through Hoboken before I’d drive her to her writing conference in Manhattan. We’d stopped by the train station, had some coffee and pastries, and then, when the weather turned bad, we ducked into the little shop on Washington Street. The shop was filled with racks jammed with clothes, and I bought the gray hoodie out of necessity, thinking it would be a one-time wear to keep me dry in the city. Little did I know it would turn into one of my favorite things. It’s just about a year old, and I’m afraid it won’t make it to two, but I’ll love that raggedy piece of cloth until it’s a pile of thread in my hands.
See how you can see the light through it?
Thanks for reading my boring post. Feel free to play along on your own blog or in the comments. See you tomorrow!