5 Stages of mourning

A few years ago, I saw a Gap commercial where one of the models wore a splendid woolen scarf. TV Commercials rarely cause me to want to rush to a store to get a product, but this was one exception: I instantly felt the overwhelming urge to own one. It was the visual representation of my dream scarf with its dozens of vibrant colors in countless patterns and a super soft lining. Before I could go and buy it myself, I received it as a Christmas gift. I was simply ecstatic. It was even more beautiful in my hands than on TV. It also turned out to be by far the warmest scarf I've ever owned, which I took to be proof that I had indeed found "The One."

For years, we were happy together. I took good care of it and cherished it. Then, last month, our passionate relationship was forever changed by a life-altering crisis: the scarf spent an hour in the dryer. When I pulled out the wooly wreckage, I was shocked into speechlessness. I had ruined the sartorial love of my life. Panic seized me, the acute pain of loss choking my heart. My scarf was dead.

I suppose I somehow didn't see it when I removed the rest of the clothes from the washer. I have spent a lot of time wondering how this could have happened. I must have been distracted, but at the peak of my paranoid neurosis, I even speculated that perhaps a part of my subconscious wanted to kill the scarf, as the result of something akin to postpartum psychosis... but for scarves. Had I blocked the image of my scarf going into the dryer and ignored it? No way... I still refused to accept that this had actually happened. It was the first stage of mourning: denial.

Next came anger. How could I have missed this dazzling array of color amidst the rest of my drab, monochrome wardrobe? HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED IT?! I was such an idiot. I couldn't even do something as simple as laundry right! Grrr. I was furious. Being a solution-oriented person, however, I didn't dwell on anger too much, and quickly moved to the third stage of mourning: bargaining.

My next action was to rush to the computer and type www.gap.com into the browser window. I was going to trade my destroyed scarf for a shiny new one! How's that for bargaining? Unfortunately, this being a couple years after the original sale, they no longer carried that particular scarf. Next step: my trusty Google, the source of the entire world's combined wisdom. Query: "unshrink wool." I crossed my fingers, and hopefully hit enter. After reading from a few links, I came up with an action plan. I soaked my scarf in a bathtub of warm water with a generous portion of liquid fabric softener, and then I started lovingly massaging the fibers. "Shhh... it's okay," I comforted it, "it's going to be okay. Here we go, just stretch a little more for me..." On the vanity, looking down on me with her unblinking eyes, my cat sat with her tail lazily swishing around her body. I found the fact that she was clearly not fazed by my antics a little unnerving.

When I had wrung out all the water, I laid down my scarf on an uninterrupted chain of clean towels. After a few hours, I moved it to the closet. Suspended from five evenly spaced hangers, it looked like a depressed little Chinese dragon. The next day, the scarf was dry... and very stiff. Moreover, I noticed that the fringe was a big messy clump. My Chinese dragon had converted from Buddhism to Rastafarianism overnight: it now had huge dreadlocks. After researching this characteristic hairstyle, I learned a lot. Dreadlocks don't need to be cut, apparently. The recommended methods of removal, however, would clearly not work on wool.

Fourth stage of mourning: depression. I've done as much as I can to salvage what's left of my scarf, but the fringe I cannot save. It makes me sad. I will need to cut it off. I cannot bring myself to do it yet. It's now one month later and I've worn the scarf, probably by sheer obstinacy. It's definitely too stiff. Maybe it needs another bath in fabric softener, or maybe I just need to move on to...

Acceptance. I will be replacing my scarf with a new one in the next few days. Now that I have a good picture of the old one, it will be a little easier to let it go. It served me well and was by far the prettiest and most efficient winter scarf I've ever owned. I will cherish its memory for the rest of my days on this Earth. Scarf, requiescat in pace.