The image pops into my head, instantly: a tattered Snoopy plush my little sister, Sarah, used to drag everywhere. It’s funny, the things that stick with you, the scent of her lavender-scented baby powder clinging to its fur, a faint echo of childhood laughter. And the shirt – a faded, soft cotton number – that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? Snoopy kiss all the time disco occasionally shirt, a relic of a simpler era, something my mom probably snagged at the local Kmart back in the day, a bargain-bin treasure.
Snoopy kiss all the time disco occasionally shirt , hoodie, hoodie and long sleeve tee
I remember thinking it was the coolest thing, even if I was secretly more into the Hulk at the time. Sarah, though, she lived for Snoopy. The way his little nose twitched, the carefree attitude – it was all pure, unadulterated joy. She’d wear the shirt, twirl until she was dizzy, and then promptly collapse in a heap, giggling. It was this blissful simplicity that the shirt represented to her.