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Inanimate Affection
Sep. 12th, 2006 09:41 pmIn an effort to improve my life and my outlook upon said life via the power of positive thinking, I am going to refrain from posting vitriolic fountains of hatred for my aching shoulders, deliberately thick-skulled clients, ridiculous bank hours, recipes that always seem to require one ingredient that I don't have in the house, and crochet patterns that require changing yarn color every three stitches. Instead, I will post about things that I love.
Of course, I love my sweetie. I love my family, and my cats, and, however much I rant about it on occasion, I love my job. However, today's special love gets directed towards my patchwork-printed polar fleece pullover.
Oh, patchwork polar-fleece pullover, how I adore you. I know things haven't always been good for us, baby. I know that when my uncle gave you to me, when I was thirteen, I hated you. I stuffed you in a closet and ignored you for five years, to be completely honest. You were big and baggy and heavy, and I was a chubby adolescent who was strangely immune to cold weather. You had a dumb pouch-pocket in front, and you didn't even have the grace to be an actual patchwork item - you were just extruded from the Polar-Fleece-O-Matic device with a pattern of fake patches printed into your being.
I have no idea how you managed to still be in my possession now, after fifteen-plus years of moving from state to state and house to apartment to house. I've sent numerous bags of clothing-like items to Goodwill, but somehow every time I open my dresser, you're still there. And last winter, desperate and chilled to the bone - and home alone, not having to care about what I looked like - I pulled you on, and fell in love.
You're warm, and soft, and snuggly, and did I mention warm? Cozy, even. And your ridiculous pouch-pocket keeps my hands warmer than any blanket. And I've progressed enough in my self-image that I can wear huge, tent-like, baggy, shapeless shirts. As long as I'm home, and there's no company over to see me.
I love you, patchwork-printed polar fleece pullover. I love your utter syntheticness, and your maroon and teal-striped patches, and your strangely beige patches with periwinkle spots, and the blobby spot in the center that I think might be a floral pattern if it weren't printed on fuzzy polar fleece. I love the fact that your sleeves come down to the second knuckle of my thumbs, so I have to hike them up to type this. I think, with time, I may even come to love your zip-up collar.
Right now, though, I think it may be time to share some of my love with a mug of tea, a strong muscle relaxant, and a particularly squashy pillow.....
Of course, I love my sweetie. I love my family, and my cats, and, however much I rant about it on occasion, I love my job. However, today's special love gets directed towards my patchwork-printed polar fleece pullover.
Oh, patchwork polar-fleece pullover, how I adore you. I know things haven't always been good for us, baby. I know that when my uncle gave you to me, when I was thirteen, I hated you. I stuffed you in a closet and ignored you for five years, to be completely honest. You were big and baggy and heavy, and I was a chubby adolescent who was strangely immune to cold weather. You had a dumb pouch-pocket in front, and you didn't even have the grace to be an actual patchwork item - you were just extruded from the Polar-Fleece-O-Matic device with a pattern of fake patches printed into your being.
I have no idea how you managed to still be in my possession now, after fifteen-plus years of moving from state to state and house to apartment to house. I've sent numerous bags of clothing-like items to Goodwill, but somehow every time I open my dresser, you're still there. And last winter, desperate and chilled to the bone - and home alone, not having to care about what I looked like - I pulled you on, and fell in love.
You're warm, and soft, and snuggly, and did I mention warm? Cozy, even. And your ridiculous pouch-pocket keeps my hands warmer than any blanket. And I've progressed enough in my self-image that I can wear huge, tent-like, baggy, shapeless shirts. As long as I'm home, and there's no company over to see me.
I love you, patchwork-printed polar fleece pullover. I love your utter syntheticness, and your maroon and teal-striped patches, and your strangely beige patches with periwinkle spots, and the blobby spot in the center that I think might be a floral pattern if it weren't printed on fuzzy polar fleece. I love the fact that your sleeves come down to the second knuckle of my thumbs, so I have to hike them up to type this. I think, with time, I may even come to love your zip-up collar.
Right now, though, I think it may be time to share some of my love with a mug of tea, a strong muscle relaxant, and a particularly squashy pillow.....
