Red plaid shirt:
I looked like a cowboy… Or a lesbian.
Not that there was anything wrong with either of those things; it just wasn’t me.
I don’t know why she’d bought it for me honestly.
I had never worn one but something had convinced my mother to buy me a red plaid shirt.
It was hideous. It was the kind of thing I would have bought from an op-shop and worn to an ugly shirt costume party. It was not the sort of thing I would choose to wear out under any other circumstance.
Some people looked nice in them: my friend, Josh, for example who was both gay (obviously not a lesbian but you get my point!) and a cowboy. He was the sort of person who made it look fashionable and practical, but he was also 6 foot 2 and muscly and didn’t mind getting horse shit on it.
What was I going to do with it?
Like all things I had and didn’t wear, I scrunched it up and shoved it in the bottom drawer of my duchess.
I wondered if all those clothes were much the same as the things in my life that I had trouble dealing with. In other words, my way was to shove them in a drawer and pretend they didn’t exist.