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The Sweater

Today I Am A Man / Who Loses Sweaters

Today was a sad day for me. I lost my sweater. It was a really nice sweater too. It said San Francisco on it. That way people who look at me in Chicago can know I went to San Francisco.

The thing that makes this such a sad day is now it's official. I am a person who loses sweaters. This is a milestone in life.

Sure I lose gloves, bus passes and even money but that is something that is understandable, but a sweater? How does one lose a sweater?

Now I am not a neat freak but my flat is in reasonable order so I should be able to find my sweater.

OK I ask myself "When did I last see the sweater?" Yesterday after the library I came home and took it off. I remember I had it in the library because I kept saying, "Geez it's so hot in here I need to take this sweater off." Then I came right home.

That was 2 days ago. I've not done the laundry and I know I didn't wear it anywhere else? I wore my coat.

So where is it? I gasp with scientific wonder at the metaphysics that makes it possible for a sweater to disappear. OK I look in the closet, not once, not twice but THREE times. Nope it's not there. It's not on the bed or under the bed. It's not in the clothes hamper, (Ok so it's not a clothes hamper but a pile of dirty clothes). Sweaters do NOT just get up and walk away, I tell myself as I again check the closet. As if somehow looking in there a FORTH time will magically make the sweater reappear.

I have looked in the house, out of the house, under the bamboo tree and over the rainbow, still no sweater.

I can understand losing the sweater in a mall or at the gym or anyplace I might take it off, but I have not taken it off and walked around bare-chested lately. I live in a studio flat for God's sake.

Now I start to get worried. Like maybe I have that thing Sybil had. Remember how she turned into Peggy Lou and went to Philadelphia and had to buy new pajamas to sleep in. Maybe it's some sort of disassociation. That could've been it, I could've been wondering around in an amnesia fugue. If that was the case, the only thing to do, is to wait for Darren Hayes to call me back and say I left the sweater at his house while we're in the hot tub together.

The police are not help either; apparently they have millions to spend on dogs that can sniff out cocaine but not one penny on a mutt who can track down a sweater.

And I don't even want you to know the hostile response I got from Paul Konrad the WGN-TV weatherman who refused to look for it on his radar.

The only help I got was from a lady named Sister Rose, who for $25.00 will psychically locate the sweater for me. Which may work except I bought it for 75¢ at the thrift store.

During my eight hour search for the sweater I did find other things that long went missing. Like my baseball mitt (odd because I don't play baseball EVER so where did I acquire this), I found my CD of Debbie Gibson and Jimmy Hoffa, well part of him anyway, but still no sweater.

Nope it was nowhere, it's gone, like my hopes, my dreams, my ambitions. I shall be now known as Mark-the-guy-who-loses-sweaters.

And the worst part is I just know the ugly guy next store will soon be using my sweater to wax his car.


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