There are claw marks on everything I have had to let go of so, as you can imagine, my closets are in bad need of weeding. I anthropomorphize everything I have ever owned.
Threadbare T-shirts frayed at the collar would be better put to rags but I can’t seem to toss them into the Goodwill box. I kid myself by saying that when I buy a new T-shirt I will have to toss an old one, and it never happens. As a consequence I have dozens of shirts, surviving dozens of washing hang like a list of places visited and tasks accomplished. There’s the Bulgaria one, silk-screened in Cyrillic, the Italian T-shirt purchased in Perugia written in Italian saying something to the effect that “If you want to know me watch what I do.” It has been washed so many times it has gotten smaller and smaller. (I couldn’t have gotten bigger and bigger!). And at least six Jungle Party Volunteer T-shirts, in yellow, orange, red, light blue and green sort of like battle ribbons issued over the years at the zoo.
And how about that lovely white lace crocheted long sleeved dress I wore to my wedding?Don’t think I could fit into again and I surely will never wear a wedding dress again, but gosh I can’t recycle it to Goodwill.