Shapeless, soft, comfortable.
Yes, we have much in common.
I reach for it first. Before my coffee. What is love if not that?
When I’m sad, I hide in it.
When I’m upset, I pull it around me like armor.
When I’m in it, I feel at home, like a turtle in its shell.
It is given priority treatment, air dried, a special hook in my closet.
When my children see me in it they know we are having an evening in.
Hood up means don’t bother Mom. What other clothing can communicate so well?
Hands in pockets means I’m not sure. Proceed with Caution.
Zipper levels can be open to interpretation.
Hoodies are persecuted for being what they are, perfect camouflage.
I eat what I want in my hoodie. No sucking in, Spanx, or crash diets needed.
I worry, what if something happened to my hoodie? What would I do/wear?
I know I should develop a spare hoodie. But that would be work and lost time with my primary precious.
So I live like there is no tomorrow hoodie, only today's.
Each stain is a landmark.
The pilling is earned.
The frayed cuffs are signs of writing battles fought and won.
To people who don’t have a favorite hoodie: