This garish eggplant colored bit of Gore-Tex is the most expensive article of clothing I own.  It was purchased for last summer’s aborted Inca Trail hike and was, of course, non-returnable by the time I was kicked off the trip.

I’ve worn it twice.  It was broken in during the the Ark-worthy first day at Bonnaroo when I huddled in a corner of the press tent, watching lightning strike dangerously close to the open door and listening to breathless announcements of nearby tornado touchdowns.  I was dry enough but still terrified I was going to die in a goddamn tent beside a table of organic burritos and a bearded blogger whose t-shirt just said “Fart.”

I dragged it out of the closet again this morning to walk the Boxerbeast, which means the cost has now been whittled down to a still pukeworthy $200 per wear.  This is yet another reason I need to move to London…so I can justify owning this jacket.

Confidential to the UK: Please let me move in with you.  I promise to do my own dishes and shower regularly.  Also, I’ll let you use my steak knives if I can borrow your garlic press.