“My clothes are bothering me,” I say to Ronnie.
“What’s wrong with them? Are they too tight?”
“No.”
“Too big?”
“No?”
“Worn out?”
“No! That’s not it.”
“Then, what?”
“They keep touching me! I don’t want them to touch me!” Even I know this is problematic.
With my body aging, a certain skin sensitivity has arrived along with aching of one sort or another. To combat our various issues, Ronnie and I have discovered that massacring our clothing is the new shopping. Barbaric alterations are all the rage at our house.
- Sleeves bothering me? Cut them off.
- T-shirt collar too tight. Cut it into a V-neck.
- Pants too big? Sew in an unsightly dart. (My shirts are never tucked in anymore anyway.)
- Sock tops too high? Cut ‘em.
- Warm-up pants too long? Ditto.
- Need shorts? Cut the legs off an old pair of pants.
Ronnie looks at my feet with raised eyebrows. “Are you wearing your socks inside out?”
“Yes. The outside is softer than the inside.” I’m not defensive. It’s just the way it is.
I never hem anything. My cotton clothes don’t ravel. It’s not like anyone is seeing us. It was only recently I had to wear a decent shirt for work video meetings. I can’t believe I used to be comfortable in those shirts with those collars and a tie all day.
This isn’t new. It’s not like we discovered the Titanic. I certainly knew about cut-offs when I was young. Somehow in the intervening years, I thought clothing must be good looking and tidy. But, the shear number of cutting options has been a revelation. I believed alternations had to be done by skilled professionals, but a good pair of scissors works wonders. We are the Scuff Patrol now. This works in pandemic life. It maybe normal in the over 65 crowd. Just like all recycling, we’re making old clothes new while simultaneously discovering the power of Who Gives a Damn?
Reporting from the front.
Joceile
9.20.21
[Picture of massacred clothing samples with an inside out sock.]
