I’m 31 Years Old, and My Mother Still Buys My Clothes

I’m 31 Years Old, and My Mother Still Buys My Clothes

The packages appear unannounced. But they arrive at a steady clip, twice monthly on average. They are emissaries of fashion and a phantom umbilical connection impossible to sever. Within the cardboard boxes might be a blazer and a pair of cordovans. There’s…