Saturday, August 7, 2010

Six Months

Six months. Six months, and I have not yet cleaned out a drawer or a closet or thrown out a single sock. Among the stuff I have not thrown away is a Lincoln phone list dated June 5, 2005. And MacInTax disks for a mac that's been gone since before Kwaj. And in this pile of keys is a key to the Daytona (the chick magnet, which he sold for $400 in 1998), and probably a key to the house in Rochester, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if there was a key to the house in Woodside.

I see the key to one of Tom's ex's here
I wear his t-shirts as nightgowns, and I wear his underwear every day.  I wore them in Niagara Falls, and I wore them in Hawaii, and Pennsylvania; and yes, I have them on right now. It makes me feel like Tom is still taking care of me.

Yup, probably ...
This is not a new thing, this obsession I have with his underwear (briefs, not boxers). I had an ER visit once for an asthma attack, at least ten years but probably much longer ago than that, and poor Tom was mortified to discover I was wearing his underwear. "Ew, gross! What if the doctor finds out?! Won't you be embarrassed?", I remember him asking at the time. (He did, and I wasn't.) And I know it traumatized Tom, because his first question before any subsequent ER visit, I kid you not, was always: "You're not wearing my underwear, are you?" Ever the Good Wife, I always changed into my own underwear for an ER visit.

Since we've been married, I've always worn his underwear and had my morning tea in his mug when he travelled. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I suppose I thought at the time. Nowadays, I guess I do it because I just like having his cooties.

Six months, and counting.

1 comment:

  1. I particularly enjoyed this post...maybe I'm feeling sentimental.

    The first thing I noticed was the picture: Tom as he will ever live in my mind and you looking (sorry) younger than I can ever remember.

    The next was that I caught a picture of David in that little slideshow...and seeing it next to the above picture really brought home that he looks like you, in a way I never noticed before.

    The third was that pile of keys. I have to believe that there must be a key at least one thing I own or owned once in there.

    And what I took away was the sense that in at least this one way, you and Tom are exactly alike: you curate physical manifestations of the past.