Love Is a Ripped Sweatshirt

You know the old expression, he'd give you the shirt off his back.  Sometimes just the pocket is enough.

Damaged in an act of chivalry

One cold morning back in December, the husband and I were walking Alfie on the bike path along the little river that runs through town.  We were about 15 minutes away from home when I got a sudden nosebleed.  Not a little dab-your-nose-and-it-stops nosebleed, but what I call "a gusher."  Luckily, I had some Kleenexes in my pocket, but they were quickly used up.  I wanted to avoid damage to my coat and leather gloves, so I tried holding a plastic bag to my nose, but that was really no help.  Things were getting messy when the husband unzipped his coat and, in a bold act of chivalry, ripped the kangaroo pocket off his sweatshirt.

2003 on the steps of Old Botany

It was an old sweatshirt, one he'd bought in 2003 at Iowa State.  We had taken a trip over to Ames to show the little kiddies where their parents had met.   In the fall of 1982, I was a graduate student and teaching assistant, and he was one of a large group of instructors hired that year on a yearly contract.  Our department had taken over the Old Botany building, which had been closed for several years, to house the offices of TAs and this sudden boom of instructors.  We met while searching for our offices a few days before the semester began.  So while the sweatshirt itself was not really valuable, it did have a certain sentimental value.


We don't make a big deal out of Valentine's Day, but this year the husband did have a package to open.

I hope everyone has a happy Valentine's Day!