Jakemann Racing

My shorts are seven years old. They were a gift from my boyfriend at the time, who attended a certain prestigious school in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It defines me because I love and respect that school and know a few people who got great degrees and also found love there. But it’s not the school that first pops into one’s mind when “Cambridge” is so portentously invoked — because I’m not that predictable either, dear reader. The lettering on these shorts is faded and flaked from countless washing. The shorts are also covered with streaks of the white paint I used to paint the walls of one of my apartments, which is also a fond memory. I still wear these shorts because I love them, and because they remind me not just of the person who gave them to me, but also of my other friends who graduated from, or married people who graduated from, graduate programs at that school. My t-shirt is made of lightweight cotton that bears a picture of a woman who vaguely resembles Wonder Woman, but is not, because that would be a trademark infringement. I purchased this shirt at the “upscale discounter” that uses a bulls-eye as its corporate logo and has awesome television commercials. It says “super-duper gal” on it. It’s so comfortable. It’s also flattering. It was also only about ten dollars. I love this shirt almost as much as I love my shorts. Back when I was gainfully employed as a corporate lawyer in New York City, I rarely had a chance to wear clothing like this. But in these lovely times of recession and downsizing, I’m trying to revel in these comfy clothes, since living off of unemployment insurance and rapidly dwindling savings is not super-duper in any way. Not even a little.