Scrunched up on the floor in a pile of clothes, I spy a grey crumpled ball. As I pick it up it becomes an extension of myself. Shake out some wrinkles- good as new. The cotton is soft and worn, the lettering starting to chip away like nail polish you’ve left on a little too long. I slip it over my head – easy and familiar. It molds to my skin as old friends meet again in a comfortable hello.