Today I lost my black cardigan. Yes, I know this is really up there with the GFC, third world hunger and global warming. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I feel such a loss. It’s like the feeling of having a pet run away. I feel like putting up posters saying ‘Lost cardigan. Reward: my eternal gratitude.’ Was I seriously going to take a picture of me from Facebook and stick it up on a flyer? Potentially. Anything to make me feel like something is being done.
Oh the lament, if I had just turned around after getting up from my seat on the train. It would still be in my arms. Of course, I immediately tried to contact lost property. In the little box that said ‘additional details’, could I really express my thoughts on the sentimental loss?
Why can’t I shake this feeling? This should feel the same as losing a bobby pin, a hair tie or even that crappy blush that always leaks in your handbag. When I tried to describe this to my bf, he said, ‘don’t worry about it, just get a new one.’ A new one? Don’t you understand? This is more than just a perfect back cardi that seemed to fix any outfit or fat day? This cardi kept me secure, feeling safe. I always felt at peace knowing it was there always to keep me warm. I felt a chill at work today and realised it will never be there to keep me warm again.
I explained my cardi loss to my girlfriend’s at work and they let out the appropriate signs of mourning. They sympthatised with me the way I expected. ‘It’s a staple’ one said as she gently clung to her comfy black cardigan with cute buttons. Mine had cute buttons. Actually when I come to think about it, overtime I have made my repairs, restitching loose threads, finding new buttons and it really probably was about time I got a new one. I knew this day was coming but I tried to avoid it. I made excuses, I’m too busy, it’s too expensive, I hate Rayon. But now that it’s gone, trying to find a new one will surely be easier now?
Looking out the window on my way home on the train, I think about my cardi that I left on the train. Will it find a new home? Or just be thrown in the trash? They say one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. It was my treasure.
I really can’t put into words why I decided to put this feeling into words (like seriously, I know I need to grow up and stop being a baby) but I think this mini heart pouring session has a special place in every woman’s heart. At some point, was there was a time where you lost something? Perhaps your favourite shade of lipstick was discontinued? It’s more than just an over the top, emotional reaction to losing something material. In fact, it has no value apart from what we assign it. So why then, does it mean so much?
Image from here