I found you about twelve years ago. Lying on the shelf in my coach. Left behind by a gentleman. He didn't seem to want you back and I took you home. I cleaned you up and then I started wearing you.
You didn't mind when I spilled food. Or toothpaste. You didn't mind when I used the sleeve to wipe my face when working in the garden. You didn't mind the holes that eventually started appearing after all the washing. But we both knew you were nearing your end. You were fading. And you were getting thinner by the wash.
I have to let you go now. Sorry. To make room for the new sweater/cardigan. Nice and fluffy. Warm. Comfortable.