9.29.16 I love men's clothing

I love men's clothes. Not because they're supposed to be mens. I grew up with five brothers. All the adults acted like that must be the worst thing. Never made sense to me, silly adults. My brothers and I were tight. 

I climbed trees and smashed around on my own and ran through mud and drove and drank hard as I got older. And went on adventures and slept outside for fun and was up for anything.

In an older more mature variation of a theme , in lots of ways, I still do. 

I throw on clothes and wash them and throw them on again. Pretty stuff is all kinds of wonderful, but I'm not real materialistic and I didn't try real hard to make lots of money and I don't really care that much. 

I think naming a female shirt a blouse and a male shirt a shirt, female underwear the diminutive panties and the male undies underwear, is all stupid crap. 

I never did see a big difference between my brothers and myself or my beloved and myself , except for maybe pregnancy and six years of breastfeeding. 

As we got older I got more worn out, and finally we scraped into that dreaded land of him doing outside harder stuff. But I get it and I can handle it. We still have things clear between us.

Tonight I see an LLBeans catalog has arrived. 

I peruse all the beautiful soft flannel shirts. The guy jeans and boots. Yum. 

My husband laughs. He's generally smitten, even with my round wrinkly self. 

He made me promise to stop stealing his clothes long ago. I loved those tightey whiteys til he got all hip with the fancy black legged deals. 

He got me a big thick Beans winter jacket one year that would not care if you rode it to hell and back. 

Love sometimes just is love is love.