I mentioned before that I was a practical person when it comes to clothes. Though I admire people donning those designer apparel and extravagant-looking threads, I am not really into trends. I am the observer, not the model. 🙂
Personally, I have a bare bones closet. A few formal shirts and several pairs of pants. As a farner, I have more working clothes. 🙂
Some people here ribbed me often because of my clothing preferences. They cited individuals poorer than me who looked wealthier once they come out in public. I guess I have the opposite mentality: more important for me is the contents of my pockets than looking good with less or nothing to back up the appearances.
While waiting for our expected balikbayan (a Filipino term for someone coming home from abroad), I decided to check my closet and drawers. I was well aware of several clothes that needed mending.
Don’t laugh! I am rather gifted patching and sewing worn out clothes. I was a Boy Scout so that would explain my talent. 🙂
While I concentrated with my chore, an acquaintance came by and watched me with curiosity. He was not only amused of my stitching skills, he shook his head repeatedly probably asking himself why I even do it since it was regarded locally as a girl thing.
“Here take this.” he offered me a box of matches.
“Why?” I asked without a clue.
“Torch them,” he laughed out loud. “You’re wasting your time.”
He had a point, really. However, I stuck to my original plan.
“This has sentimental value,” I lied just to fend off his snide remarks.
“Really?” he suddenly got serious. “What’s so important about that?”
The blue jeans I was mending was more than ten years old although it looked much older because of the fading.
“Did you know that this was given to me personally by someone who got it from a popular rock band singer?”
“I don’t believe you!” he doubted though his eyes were in shock.
“Look here,” I pointed to the label. “This proves it.”
“Who’s Jag?” his forehead’s skin knotted as if he was searching his limited memory.
“You see!” I knew he would fall for it. “That’s Mick Jagger’s nickname. You know, The Rolling Stones.”
“Wow!” he touched the fabric, trying to feel its importance in history. “You’re lucky!”
“Yeah!” I nodded, going back to my ‘girl’ thing.
(P. S. I did tell him later I was joking. But I am sure he would not repeat the same mistake of putting me on a tight spot.)