Cargo

She promised not to wear it anymore, which meant that I had this one chance only, to gather the evidence. Maybe you have owned one of those jerseys, maybe it was a little too large to begin with, maybe you held on to it for a little too long, stretching its wearability way past its expiration date.

She is notorious for an unwillingness to throw away anything that might still possess the slightest flicker of life. Like a battery that, if removed and reinstalled, might provide another five minutes of power. Like a barbecue with a rusted gas line that maybe duct tape could fix. Like a second-hand jersey offered during a club give-away, and gladly accepted. Even though it was stitched for a mans' body dimensions, and looked to have carried a fair amount of cargo by its previous owner. There was still some life in its old nylon threads, after all.

Pockets filled, it fit more like a dress in sagging response, easily long enough for the night club dance floor. Stopped for a moment at the golf course, you know the one, with the bike rest area beside the path, two riders passed along and motioned. I only half jokingly commented it was about the jersey and its weighty burden. While the local chipmunks may have starred in awe at the ability to pack those pockets to bulging fullness, I pointed out it was not necessarily a favorable characteristic for a jersey, especially one that was already stretched to its rubber band-snapping limits.

I understand there is a new jersey on the horizon, and just in time too, a little longer and she would be tripping on this old one.