Why I Love Autumn: Reason 10
Last night I rediscovered my favorite hoodie in the whole entire world and I put it on for the first time in forever and it felt like football and orange leaves and soft blankets and loving backrubs and macaroni & cheese like my mom makes and oak burning in a fireplace and a full bodied cabernet and a puppy curled up next to me...
I stole it. I adopted it. I wooed it. I seduced it.
It was his. It was his favorite color. All but the teeny patch of silver sparkley stuff on the back that he didn't notice when he first bought it. To this day he'll swear that he allowed me to take it but I know he was sad to see it go. Green suited us both. His house was cold and I was deliberately ill prepared in my white v-neck tee shirts.
He spilled beer on it. I spilled whiskey on it AND washed it with fabric softener. He worked on the car with it, I wore it to football games. He let the dogs get to it one morning. I coaxed it from their slobbery jaws with the promise of pup-per-oni treats. I'd wear it with nothing else but socks in the mornings, drinking coffee, using the hood to dry my damp hair.
And now, its mine. Somewhat dingy, somewhat shabby, the smell of him long gone and replaced with memories of better and worse times, the soft downy fleece replaced with the gentle nubbiness old sweatshirts get. The hood string has ripped through the fabric and is tied in an unloosenable knot.
To replace it is unthinkable.