A few of my clothes contain precious personal stories. Seemingly ordinary, some old shirts and dresses – those not imbued with the special importance of celebration, ceremony or sports – can still raise mirth or nostalgia after many years.
In elementary school, my underpants provided me with confidence, for each pair featured a day of the week. Donning “Tuesday” panties on the correct day, I brimmed with inner security, as if situated in my proper place in the world.
The front of one of my old shirts features a large single maple leaf. Growing up, I played endlessly in a huge maple tree. When I climbed high in it, I hid from troublesome neighbors. With a book and an apple, it sheltered me for hours at a time. Wearing the shirt today, long after the noble tree’s demise of old age, I’m filled with love and a sense of safety.
When I got older, one boyfriend gave me a plaid flannel man’s shirt for a birthday present. Not being a fan of that style, his gift puzzled me, but I wore it out of politeness. Several years after our breakup, he announced he was gay. It seemed he wanted me to appear masculine. Although the shirt went to Goodwill I still giggled at the memory of our crossed signals.
When Mom suddenly passed away, I went through every one of Elizabeth Kubler Ross’ stages of grief. While cleaning out her clothes, I nearly bypassed her underwear drawer thinking that nothing would fit me. I stood eight inches taller than Mom and about one-half her girth. But I loved the smell of her clean under-things and picked up a bra. Oddly, it looked like it was about my size. Curious, I tried it on and was astounded that it fit perfectly. I wore her bras for the next several months. Their scent and the warm feeling gave me closeness to her at a time when I really needed it.
A few years after Mom passed, I went hiking with a new boyfriend, Gary, and another couple. In the mountains, we came to a small village with several stores. After we each did an errand or two, we waited for Gary. Twenty minutes later, he showed up and handed me a pretty long-sleeved blue t-shirt, explaining that this purchase had delayed him. I hadn’t expected a gift, so I felt non-plussed, as were the others, but we smiled. I thanked him and we continued on our way. Later, when we were alone, Gary admitted to me that he had been held up by an unexpectedly long bathroom break; he bought me the shirt to disguise his intestinal needs in front of his friends. We broke up years ago, but I always laugh when I wear Gary’s poop shirt.
Some of my garments hold stories in them, memories of confidence, love and longing, or the ridiculous. When I wear these clothes, I savor the feelings, still strong after all this time.
Real Life – Real Laughs:
Humor When You Need It Most
Cate Burns’ thirty-eight non-fiction stories of heartfelt humor explore society’s foibles and personal snafus with insightful zingers that will delight readers. Burns casts an unstinting, cock-eyed look at personal change, friendship, sanity and courage.
“Absolutely LOVE the descriptions in this work. Very, very, very clever and, dare I say it? -unique. This is refreshing, funny, inventive and delightful.” -Sharon Whitehill, Ph. D.
