Ten years ago, I purchased a blue bubble coat on a lark to mark the sad end of our local Steve and Barry’s store.
The coat, which cost me $5, has been a mainstay of my wardrobe ever since.
Cost per wear? Well, I think I owe it a small fortune by now.
My loyal coat has not changed in all these years, despite multiple trips down the sled hill across the street from my house. It’s been washed, fluffed, dried and worn again so many times you’d think it would fall apart. It doesn’t, even when I do.
Frankly, that coat has held up better than I have.
I wear it under my Packer coat on below zero game days and it acts as both a talisman and a toaster. I yank it on in the pre-dawn hours and we head off to workouts at the Y or on long walks with my friend.
That coat has been to Pennsylvania, Minnesota and New York. I’ve stuffed it in overhead bins, and jammed it into car trunks. It never complains.
I’ve worn it on some of my happiest errands — airport pickups, holiday shopping, public library jaunts, ice skating dates with my daughter, lunch with friends.
I’m a tall drink of water and my coat fits me perfectly, covers my butt and my wrists without any effort at all. Not a lot of coats can make that claim.
I’m not sure they’d even recognize me Up North without my trusty blue coat and we’ve had a splendid time there too.
I washed her last night (along with my snow pants, mittens and scarf) because I may or may not have skidded through something foul on the iciest sled hill I’ve ever experienced.
And, not surprisingly, she’s back, good as new, and ready to head out on more adventures (though my own muscles are a pinch sore.)
Happy anniversary to my big blue coat. I’m really happy your mine.