It’s funny what you remember.
In my twenties I went to the United Kingdom but I don’t remember that much about the trip. Those great sites and architectural marvels should have stayed with me for life but alas they have not.
The memory that sticks out the most is my T-shirt unraveling on the plane home. I had dried it on a heater the day before and the grid pattern damaged the fibers.
The shirt started to tear lengthwise across my chest about halfway over the Atlantic — first one strip then another — until I looked like a Flashdance victim. Luckily I had a sweatshirt handy.
My friend at work told me a similar story about a chenille sweater gone bad. It went from furry to mesh over the course of an afternoon.
Since then I’ve only had the odd missing button issue.