October 05, 2011
Of course you can come along, Eddie. Your sleeves will come in handy on a cool day like this, but I hope you don’t mind if I cover you with this flannel. The ladies like them tight across the chest these days, and you’re too frumpy to make the grade. I suppose I’ll let you peek out a little, but try to avoid looking saggy around the collar. And should any girls happen by, I’m gonna need you to keep low.
You came to me at my mom’s insistence last Christmas, and I’ve had a hard time getting rid of you ever since. You’re somehow always there in my top drawer, offering a comfortable if dull counterpoint to whatever else I might wear. You agree with everything I own. Jesus, Eddie, try playing a little hard to get every once in a while.
I wore you once on a hiking trip to Summit Ridge. It was the perfect temperature for short sleeves, but that didn’t keep you from popping up at just the right time and somehow making me take you along. We had a great time. You didn’t complain when I used you to wipe my brow, and you even helped me twist off the cap of my Gatorade. By the end I was ready to call you my favorite, but then I went home and two brand new Ts were waiting for me at my front door, an order I’d placed and forgotten about. Come on, Eddie. It’s cotton-hybrid. You can’t expect me to pass that up.
It’s strange how easily I can forget about you. Sometimes I purposefully ignore you there in my drawer. You want me more than I want you, and it breeds resentment. I believe in my heart I should have better: a pro sports jersey, a cool button-up, a designer something-or-other from some boutique downtown. But I don’t. I have you, and on most days, Eddie, you’ll have to do.
So, my begrudged companion, it looks like it’s you and me for another trip out into the world. Do remember to keep low if the ladies come by, or if I see someone I know. Of course we’re friends, Eddie, but let’s let that be our little secret.