A Shorts Story

While I don't consider myself materialistic, I do sometimes become attached to the most mundane physical objects and have a hard time letting go.

Case in point, Teddy, a large stuffed yellow and brown bear that I didn't let out of my sight for the first 7 years of my life. Then, one day, somehow he got relegated to the attic. Forgotten and unmissed. Many years later, when I was in high school, I came across Teddy while helping Mom look for some curtains.

Seeing him there, all alone in the dark attic, and remembering how he had once been such an integral part of my life, I scooped him up, dusted him off and brought him back down to my bedroom. Granted, he stayed pretty much cooped up in the back corner of my room, but every once in awhile I'd catch sight of him and remember all those nights as a kid feeling so much more secure in my bed because Teddy was there. And I felt better knowing he wasn't wasting away in the attic all alone.

As I grew, so did my random physical attachments. At different points I have had attachments to a pair of PJs, shoes (I was totally depressed the day I had to throw my favorite black leather pumps away), a small ceramic pony that for some reason I just love and still have on my nightstand to this day, picture frames, cassette tapes, a blue vase, earrings -- you get the picture.

Well, last nite, I had to say goodbye to another of my favorite things.

My white denim shorts, which I've had for so long I don't even know how old they really are, finally died. Literally died.

As I eased into them one more time, the zipper broke. I actually did consider having a new one put in for a few minutes, but looking at them, how the seams were tattering, the denim was worn thin in places, I realized the time had come to let go.

But it was hard, unbelieveably, ridiculously, absurdly, laughably hard.

Over the years I had worn them year-round -- with tanks and tees in the summer and sweatshirts and henleys in the fall and winter. They were a lightweight denim, broken in, always comfy, and always fit despite my weight gains and monthly bloating.

AND, most importantly, they were always flattering. I wore them out with friends, around the house, washing the car. I wore them ALL THE TIME.

But no more. Last nite, I took them off for the last time, and tossed them into the trash. Just like I did with those beloved black pumps a few years ago.

I miss them already, and know I'll never find a pair exactly like them.

Their demise means one less of my favorite things lying around the house. Not to mention one less pair of flattering shorts in my wardrobe.

But luckily, while some things have to be let go, others do survive.

At least I can take comfort in the fact that Teddy is still alive and kicking. Even after all these years, he still sits in my old bedroom at my parents house, forever smiling from his place in the corner and being entertained occasionally by my two rambunctious nieces who still find joy in the arms of a big yellow and brown teddy bear.

And I threaten my father with a fate worse than death any time he jokingly suggests giving, or throwing, him away.