It’s an odd thing. There’s not much about which I’m sentimental – until it comes to tossing old paint clothes. Apparently I have an unusual attachment.
It’s a little history lesson wearing them, recalling past painting jobs, the feeling of starting fresh with a new room, the wonder of how I can be so incredibly messy. I’m kind of proud of those shirts and shorts, or in the winter, the long-sleeved tees and sweats that are pivotal for my ensembles. I would wear them in public if it were a painting emergency. At least everyone would assume I was being productive! Hmm.
Alas, a time for everything though. I tossed a shirt which memory fails to recollect when I might ever have worn it in mint condition? It’s gone as I currently launder the old stand-bys. They faithfully await the next adventure.