My Favorite Thing

Back in college when Myspace was still hip and cool, I would routinely fill out "surveys" comprised of questions as important as, "Who was the last person you texted?" "What's the closest yellow object to you?" and "What's your favorite item of clothing?"  The answers, since I'm sure you're interested, just as everyone clearly was 5 years ago, are as follows:  Miranda, a post it note, and an old, holey, paint-covered tshirt that I got for free after donating blood when I was 18.

The ol' shirt in action circa May 2006

I absolutely love this old tshirt.  I don't wear it in public anymore because it looks tragic now, but it's my favorite shirt to lounge around in at home.  When I received the shirt after donating blood I appreciated it much less than the ham biscuits I was being given at the blood donor recovery canteen.  When I got home I shoved it to the back of a drawer and forgot about it.  But then junior year of college I traveled to England and Scotland to study for a month and I found myself needing long sleeved shirts.  I was going to be spending my time hiking in the Lake District where it's chilly and rainy and muddy and, it bears repeating, rainy.  So I grabbed this shirt, along with every other long sleeved one I had, and threw it in my suitcase.  I experienced so much wearing this shirt.  I was wearing it when I had an unfortunate run-in with a barbed wire fence that ran along the muddy road we had to travel in order to get anywhere that wasn't our hostel.  On that day I tore a hole in the shirt that was probably about a centimeter wide.  I wore it when I visited Mr. McGregor's garden at Beatrix Potter's home.  I wore it when I chose to roll down the hill where we had just had class, instead of walking down it.  I wore it when I became friends with people who I never thought I'd speak to, much less travel across the globe with. And, as the above picture shows, I wore it the day that found my Passport when I thought I had lost it.  I did just what my mom told me and promptly taped it to my chest.

Now that centimeter wide hole exposes my entire elbow and is surrounded by three other dime-size holes.  There's grey paint on the sleeves and I have no idea how it got there.  It's faded and slightly shrunken from 6 years of washing and drying it on at least a monthly basis.

That month-long trip to the UK changed me. I can't really put my finger on how it changed me or exactly when it happened, but I know that I was different when I got off that plane in Greensboro at the end of the trip.  And more than any other object I had with me, I associate my bright orange shirt with that trip.  Likewise, I've continued to change since that trip and so has this raggedy shirt.  I didn't have a blankie or a favorite doll or stuffed animal as a child, but I feel like this shirt is my version of a much loved blanket.  One day I'll have to retire it. And maybe some day I'll make something out of it.  But today I'm going to wear it while sitting criss-cross-applesauce on my bed writing about it, instead of going to bed like I should.

What's your favorite piece of clothing?  Is it nice and fasionable or comfy and cozy (and maybe riddle with holes?) like mine?