Sexy Gray Cardigan

Within my entire wardrobe there exists a piece so essential to my sported style that to do without it would surely spell the end of my status as one of my school's obvious fashion icons. And in case you're wondering what piece I speak of (and have, for that matter, been speaking of ever since picking up the darling off a blind mathematically challenged Indian clerk for a pretty penny six years ago), I refer to none other than my sexy gray cardigan.

Sleek and utterly irresistible, with not so much as a square inch of poorly weaved material, the cardigan is a metaphorical representation of my soul. We have everything in common. It's light and breezy - I'm light and breezy. It lives to be placed over a human torso - I live... Well, you get the idea. ..We're kindred spirits, the cardigan and I. My friends all know my mood dips and dives like a squatter's Adam's apple: At times pitch black, but just as equally be found pale as a snake. Case in point: Blending the saturated hues of my moods, you get (I'm not kidding- I've done the tests) the exact shade of gray as my gorgeous cardigan of a light sweater. Truly, we are one with each other.

Just the other day I couldn't help but have the obvious reality screamed at me that Jesus Christ himself could only have chosen the warmness level of my sweater, for I had never been so temperately comfortable. Falling to the ground, I lifting my head to the skies I asked my Lord and Savior "how The was able to make Thy a sweater so befitting of this my natural environment?" Unfortunately, he didn't answer. However, time and again my sweater comes to my rescue in giving me that extra few degrees I'm just begging for. Without His undeserved assistance, I would have frozen to death long ago.

To articulate its iconicity in a way that will cement its status as legendary, I'm taken back to an event that played out in an unexpected setting last month. During the rushing climax of this incident, I found my limbs quavering in fear at the unknown fate awaiting me. The question of "what now?" raced repeatedly across my consciousness as I stood inside the girls change room at my school. One of the girl's volleyball players, who was hysterical with rage, had somehow obtained a wrench and, unfortunately for myself, was directing her anger toward me. The great female was pissed at me for calling her a Dyke and, as a result, intended to break my knee caps. Sensing my impending demise, I looked around for something; anything i could use as a weapon to defend myself. Glancing down to my right, I noticed a glorious sight. There, down on the floor, was my sexy gray cardigan. Suddenly, I had an idea. Picking up my cardigan, I began to whip the Dyke across her man tits. She bellowed out in agony. I had defeated the great white Dyke. If it wasn’t for my cardigan I would surely have been raped.

Without any doubt, "Sexy Gray Cardigan" is essence stitched in a flawless piece of aesthetic garb. It's not only my symbol for who I am, it effectively prophesies where I'm heading. I can go anywhere without fear that I might get a bit chilly, as long as I have this necessary part of my life. I'll love your for all time, Sexy Gray Cardigan.

I'm not sure if this is an essay based on personal experience, or some creative musing. Either way, I enjoyed it. It was funny. I would enjoy reading a light, humorous work from the perspective of this character. Personally, I think the very last paragraph was somewhat unnecessary. It would've had a bit of that zing to it had it simply ended with ".....surely would have raped me."

Crazy story, but I can relate to the love of a piece of clothing, as you love your sweater.

"What the f~@K....???????"