Wash n' wear

As a rule I wash new clothes before wearing them. Whether they come in a package or off the rack, they go into the machine before I put them on. While new could imply clean, it doesn't guarantee it. The smell of new clothes often makes me think of a factory in far off lands, huge rolls of cotton blends lining the wall, cut scraps on the floor, women bent over sewing machines, hair tied back. And then being put in a pile, loaded onto a truck, then a boat, then another truck. Weeks pass, maybe months. The dust settles, insects pass by, crates creak, steel bangs. Always best to wash after such a journey.

If I have told you the above it is to highlight that sometimes there are exceptions. Tonight, for example. As I paid for my purchase this evening, I knew that the second I got home I was going to put them on, washing be damned. I just bought the most comfortable purple sweatpants on the planet. Maybe purple is putting it too strongly, mauve. Old school sweatpants from one of those stores that is embracing all things eighties (there were also fluorescent shoes and Mickey Mouse off-the-shoulder extra large t-shirts) with tight ankles and straight legs. And pockets for pure lazy slouching.

They are awesome for their undeniable comfort. I may never take them off again.

There is a poem about growing old and wearing purple. Since I feel I am going through an early mid-life crisis (youthful dreams gone to dust, post-baby fat now here to stay) these may be the perfect companion.

Thing is, I am traveling soon and to places far more stylish than Montreal (c'est pas possible!) and the purple pants may just have to join me on my adventures. Europe may never be the same.