And how I said hello good-bye to my stage clothes
Having spent much of the past two years hung up in the wardrobe
my stage clothes are pleased to be invited out once more. It’s about stepping out all dressed up with somewhere to go, like a concert. And December started well, for where I go my stage clothes come with me.
Now, I have grown very fond of my ivory-coloured suit. Maybe excessively so. I take it everywhere. I have worn it in many concerts. I think I even play better with it on. It knows me inside out although I wouldn’t dream of wearing it that way. Anyway, second week in December after our concert together, I took it to the dry cleaners. Even soiled and crumpled I folded it neatly out of respect into a carrier bag and handed it over. I imagined the concerts I would give in it on its return, unawares they would never actually happen. Thank you, covid. But I didn’t know that at the time as I temporarily parted from it and entrusted the dry cleaners with giving it a good going-over.
Neatly pressed and sparkling clean, it radiates a glow that only a suit of that hue can do under a bright spotlight. Those thoughts flashed through my mind as I tingled with anticipation on the day I went to collect it.
But oh dear. Oh dear oh dear! Horror of horrors. The lady slapped it down on the counter and apologised, not altogether handsomely. My lovely suit from which I am rarely separated, the constant witness to the ups and downs of my performances blushed crimson at me in a forlorn manner most pathetic. She, the suit, was now pink. PiNK! My dear lovely faithful suit was unrecognizable. The dry cleaning lady offered to even out the colour and make her more pink all over. MORE PINK ALL OVER! Or if I preferred red. Red like a tomato or a fireman. Maybe I could walk on stage with a fire hose in one hand spraying water, and in the other hand my guitar. No, I said. Not at all, not pink and not red. I think my language was more colourful than that but I wouldn’t like to repeat my exact turn of phrase.
So it’s goodbye to my dear companion ivory suit. It’s now hanging up, with ivory patches peaking out of pink blotches, waiting for my unexpected usage. I am not counting it out. Hand on heart I cannot look at her in the button and whisper softly goodbye, it’s been good while you lasted. No I cannot do that. If these two years past have taught me anything it’s not to take anything for granted.
Thank you for reading.