File this under the category of "Ratty clothes with zero value if sentimental doesn’t count", or "The Stories These Clothes Could Tell".
I think it’s time to retire the Pluto and pine trees boxer shorts — they are at least 17 years old. They belonged to my ex-boyfriend from England, a tall ginger-haired fellow from Hants, when I was living in Australia in ‘91-’92. I don’t know how I procured them at the time — I was probably on laundry duty and they ended up in my belongings. Or I just liked wearing them to bed and accidentally-on-purpose let them end up in my belongings. For years.
Now the cotton is so worn it’s frayed a massive hole in the bum that’s grown to nearly the size of a leghole. Which would be fine if I were a three-legged creature.
If you squint you may see a tiny piece of purple yarn sticking out from the long-since-expired elastic at the waist. When I was travelling in Malaysia, I took my clothes to a laundry service and they washed everyone’s clothes together. How they would distinguish between individual loads was by sewing in a piece of coloured yarn. Genius!
I’m sure everyone (most? a few? another person?) has at least one of these in their closet or drawers — clothes that should really be retired but live on beyond their useful years because of some nostalgic attachment.
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