We all have one, that go-to shirt that we grab and put on when we want to feel comfortable. Mine is navy blue corduroy and is almost as old as my youngest child in her mid-twenties.
I probably paid $30.00 or so for it, and I’ve worn it a hundred times. It shows up in photos more than I care to admit. Why do I love it so much?
- It’s super soft.
- It’s cozy warm.
- It goes with everything (except black).
- It has long-enough sleeves.
Most women’s shirts hit me a few inches above the wrist. I have gorilla arms, as long as most men’s arms. My perfect-fitting shirt is either a woman’s tall or a men’s medium.
Last week I wore my fave navy corduroy with the purple and pale blue vine pattern while I was adding bleach to the outdoor fountain to kill the algae. Lots of critters drink out of my back-yard fountain, including my dogs. Algae is bad for animals.
When I washed the shirt, took it out of the washer, and hung it up on a hanger to dry (maybe that’s why it has lasted so long!). I noticed three spots on the front where the navy color was gone. The bleach must’ve splattered on my favorite shirt.
Oh, the horror!
I did what anyone else with a favorite shirt would do. I got out the magic marker and covered up the bleach spots.
I wore the shirt again today, perfect for working outside on a warm February day two blocks from the ocean. I walked the dog to the beach and back with a wool sweater over it, since it was brisk this morning. Then I came home and pulled the moss out of my trees that had washed down from higher trees above in last week’s rainstorm. The shirt protected my arms from getting scratched while I was up a ladder and inside the trees.
I might have to retire the shirt soon, now that it has the bleach stains on it. But somehow, I doubt it. It still feels soft, it has long shirttails on it that one of my dogs drooled on today while I was resting in a lawn chair in the sun. Who cares? It will come out in the wash and be almost as good as the day I bought it at Eddie Bauer in the mid- 90’s.
I have a handful of blue jeans that I love and that are long enough and fit me well, but they wear out so fast. The back pockets get stretched out from my heavy cell phone. Then the butt is baggy, and I have to get a new pair or two. My closet has twenty pairs of blue jeans in it, but only four or five pairs fit me at any given time.
We seniors seem younger than when I was younger. The seniors of yesterday wore polyester pants and nursing shoes. We wear jeans and boots, plus we dye our hair here in CA. From the back, I could be thirty. I am okay with that.
Now with masks covering up half the wrinkles on my face, I can also look younger from the front.
It’s one small upside of the pandemic.