I can remember the origin of nearly every piece of clothing I have ever owned. I discovered this amazing ability as I was looking through a photo album my mother made me for Christmas last year. The cover is a photo of me in 2nd grade wearing a homemade red high neck blouse with white smocking. I clearly remember pouring through Butterick catalogue looking for the pattern.
Next page and it's 1980 and I'm wearing a blue peasant skirt, knee length with three layers of complementing calico material separated by a blue ribbon. Peasant skirts were very popular at the time. I think my sister made it without a pattern (she's very talented my sister).
There's a photo of me at my parents 25th wedding anniversary. I'm in a white lace Gunne Sack dress we bought at the factory outlet in San Francisco. It was $25; I bought it with my babysitting money. A photo at the Russian River -- I'm wearing white and blue running shorts (Mervyns). A photo with my grandmother in Cleveland, I'm in a woolly jumper (Macys); next photo and I'm in cropped jeans and a linen blouse (Marshalls); a photo with my Belgian cousin Josipa at Cliff House in San Francisco. I'm wearing long khaki shorts (The Gap), a white T-shirt (also The Gap) with a denim shirt tied around my waist. The demin shirt was from my first tech company and it had the company logo on the right lapel; we wore them to trade shows.
It's uncanny. I can't remember what I had for breakfast or how many playdates I've arranged for the week, but I can look through this album and tell you the origin of every piece of clothing I'm wearing.
I'm sure hubby has no idea of the origin of his clothes. First of all, he'd have a hard time telling one khaki trouser and blue shirt from another. Second, I buy his clothes!
It must be a girl thing.
