I have several articles of clothing in shades of red
They are sorely neglected
In the gallant event that one them breaks through the binds of my abandonment, I systematically sport every other red garment during subsequent days. They catch me when I lower my guard, when thoughts of inefficient laundry cycles are not to be found.
My mind's eye sees them there in the closet, plotting my demise. "You go, big guy!" The long sleeved tee says to the sweater. The sweater bumbles in a deep, seeming clueless, stuffy-nosed monotone, "Daaaaaah...yah think she'd go for it, Squirt?"
They rally around the sweater, inflating his ego:
"Sure, sure! This is your time of year, big guy!"
"Ooooh, she got you for a Christmas present from her mom, play that card!"
"Make sure to look extra wooly when she opens the door! She loooooves wooly!"
"Daaaaaah...but what if she doesn't pick me?" the sweater questions uncertainly. The clothing shuffles uncomfortably—this is a very real possibility, this non-picking of the red. When none reply, the sweater sighs, "Daaaaaah ...I'll take one for the team, guys."
And so it happened, one crisp morning in front of my closet. All other colors faded to my eyes, their drabness clashing with the bright day. The red sweater, the perfect garment for this time of year, the cherished Christmas present from my mother, the cozy, wooly darling...made its way into my heart and onto my shoulders.
That night it was the burgundy jogging pants and merlot t-shirt while I worked out. The next day it was the raspberry long-sleeved t-shirt and the cherry-hued sweatshirt...and so it continued, until I had a full load of red laundry.
