Requiem for some Underwear

It’s difficult for some people to imagine, but I get pretty attached to certain pieces of clothes. I have a pair of socks that are perfect for flying in. I guard them closely. They fit ever so tightly, and have this nappy (no offense intended, ladybasketballers), terry cloth quality, but they also have lycra sewn into them or something which makes them not lose their shape. They are thick and grey, and warm enough to not wear shoes on long overnight flights. I would buy ten pair if I knew where to get them (actually, I do: the Montbell store in Osaka’s Gare Outdoor, underneath Umeda Japan Rail station- so next time you swing by, I am size 12).

Yesterday, I had to say good buy to a storied pair of underwear. It made me kind of sad. They pretty much just died. There was no going on for them; they expired, kicked the bucket. I had no choice. I would have brought them home, but I had biked to work in them, and well, to put it delicately, that didn’t help their cause much. I bought them in Jaipur, in northern India. They were made by Dara, a company I have never heard of before. They were brown square cut trunks that made my butt look awesome. Sigh. Did they ever dream that they would travel across the world to be unceremoniously dumped into a rubbish bin in the locker room of my building? Did I ever think when I was buying them that they would finally fail me on a grey April morning?

Maybe it’s time to go back on the mood stabilizers.