It is my experience that the natural death of many pieces of clothing, while expected, tends to be nonetheless quite violent and quick.
My favorite--no, only--bathrobe died today. But it didn't just wear into gentle holes: I put it on and it looked like squirrels had had a fight in it. There were several large jagged thready rents in it--big ones--I had never seen before; big holes with the weft fibers hanging in drooped swags like the windows at the Four Seasons. The cuffs were suddenly strangely unraveled. The hem had blown.
It's as if the wardrobe person for Les Mis snuck in overnight and customized it so I could play a street urchin or something. It almost looks fake. Funny how that happens. Time for a new bathrobe.