Ethel Moffit

Last weekend, while indulging in some cable TV while housesitting at my mom's, I watched some sort of "Fashion Police" kind of show where they tell someone that they dress terribly then buy them a bunch of new clothes. I've seen this show before, and usually find some consolation in the fact that I don't dress as bad as the guests on the show. At least I didn't think I did.

On the particular late night episode I was watching, my optimism and fashion confidence was dashed when the guest on the show was modeling a favorite sweater from her wardrobe. This sweater was none other than the very same as my beloved, "E. Moffit" sweater that any of my former college roomates could attest for (and even confess to borrowing themselves). Much to my dismay, the hosts of the shows went on at length about how hideous this particular sweater was, not fit for even a grandma. I didn't even have the heart to admit to the television screen that not only did I have that sweater in a similar shade, but, at least at some point, had that same sweater in 3 other colors as well. (I currently only own it in cream and red.)

The sweater is titled my "Ethel Moffit" sweater for a reason. After purchasing it from the thrift store many moons ago, I discovered "E. Moffit" written in permanent marker across the inside of the back of the sweater. (We just presumed her name was "Ethel".) Labeling clothes in such a way is common in nursing homes, so that clothes do not get confused in the laundry room. Yes, my favorite sweater was likely formerly owned by a now dead old lady. I guess that's why it was only $.89. It did not stop me from wearing it several times a week all through college and well into my first few years as a working adult. It continues to occupy my closet but see's less wear due to its loss of shape and a stain or two. (Sniff! Sniff!)

My name is Julia, and I like to wear ugly sweaters from dead people.