This was one fabric that was supposed to bleed when it was washed, and boy, did it ever. It also turned into a total dishrag when it was wet. I can recall stylin', in my Madras shirt and white shorts, at Kennywood Park in Pittsburgh during our eighth grade picnic.
I liked the plaids so much that my cafe curtains and bedspread were made of a plaid just like the one above even when I got older.
Funny, but today I don't own anything plaid.
Remember any of your own tales of Madras Days?
No comments:
Post a Comment