Requiem for shorts.

My shorts bit the dust this morning. I don't know what kind of cheap crap it is they sell at Banana Republic, that it only lasts sixteen years.

My godfathers bought me these shorts the summer I turned 12. That means that these shorts predate every single person on my friendslist in my life. They were originally a light sage green, just basic twill shorts with pockets. They went with a white T-shirt and a peach vesty thing. The T-shirt wore out in a couple of years, and I started refusing to wear the vesty thing after about a year. (I am not a vest girl.) But the shorts, oh, the shorts have seen me through moving back to Nebraska from Kansas, through junior high and high school and college and abortive attempts at grad school and adult life apart from institutional education. I didn't wear the shorts when I went to meet scottjames in the park to hang out for awhile without the phone or adults, but I could have been. I wasn't wearing the shorts when seagrit told us we were going to have a niece, but I could have been. I'm pretty sure I was wearing them when I went to "Contact" with steve_dash_o and the rest of our summer research cohort in Ohio. They have been a staple of my summer life for more than half of the years I've been alive.

And now -- well, twill can only withstand so much. They had turned kind of an indeterminate, very pale grey-green. They were soft. They were comfortable. They were mine. But the seams were starting to go because the fabric was losing structural integrity, and I thought of resewing them, but the rest of the fabric was losing structural integrity, too.

Farewell, shorts. I will miss you. I'm not sure how I'll know it's summer without you.