Presumed success as a clothing memoirist...

As previously discussed, I have a shit memory for human beings. I do have an excellent memory however, for what I was wearing. 

What ever does she mean?

I know exactly what I was wearing the first night I met Ben (my Joan Holloway dress). 

I know what shirt I was wearing the first time I saw a dead body (Black, long-sleeved, waffle weaved), even though that was back in Grade 12. 

I know what sweater I wore (and what pair of shorts!) when I camped out at Reads the first day I was back in Fredericton during Christmas break the year I spent in Toronto, waiting for my friend to get off work. 

I know that I wore a tartan skirt to my aunt's funeral when I was ten years old.

I know what bra I was wearing the last time I splashed around in the middle of the night in the Wilmot kiddie pool, two years ago.

I know what ugly sleeveless sweater-tunic monstrosity I wore to my first day of classes at St.Thomas University (it was grey! It had a hood!)

I know exactly which dresses I was wearing both (!!) times that my ex-boyfriend broke up with me - my red "sailing" dress, and my black tea-length dress a year-and-some-months later as I was slipping it over my head.

It's probably normal.*

*It's probably not normal for people to break up with you when you have a dress stuck over your head.