It isn't bad enough that I'm freakishly long and have more colours in my pattern than there are in the rainbow, but I have to be the property of a certified madman. You know, before, when I was hanging in the back of the wardrobe, I wanted someone to take me out and wear me. I really wanted to be a good scarf, and when the Doctor first spied me behind some coats I was very happy.
At first things were good, but then it became quite clear that the Doctor had no intentions of removing me. Ever. For any reason. He even used to shower while still wearing me, but fortunately one of his companions noticed and put a stop to it.
He did everything with me around his neck. His pajamas consisted of me, me and more me. I can't tell you what else he did while I was around. Let's just say I'm not the only one who was complaining.
I'm not even sure what the purpose of a scarf is anymore. I used to think it was to keep a person's neck warm, but after being worn around on desert planets and used as a bath toy, I'm not so certain.
During my time with the Doctor, I became more than a simple accessory. I was also a rope. I can't tell you how many times someone was falling from a cliff or whatnot and instead of having a rope on hand like any sensible madman, the Doctor chose to use me. While I was still wrapped around his crazy neck. Do you have any idea what that kind of stretching does to wool? It's taken me the last three decades to get back into the proper shape.
He never bothered to wash me either. Never once was I allowed to take a nice bath on my own. I was sticky from melted Jelly Babies that he lost and never found for the longest time. The worst times were when he--or anyone else, for that matter--had a cold. Those were the times when I seriously thought about unraveling myself.
Then there was the time he let those people burn a piece of me off with their electric swords. Do you know what that did to me? I'll never be even again! My edges are still singed!
Not to mention the daily abuse. He never bothers to pick me up from the floor. I've been dragged through every puddle in the Universe. If something is spilled on the floor, I'm dragged through it. If there is mud, I am dragged through it. Wherever there are thorns and dead leaves, I am taken there. I have so many snags in my stitching! It's really very surprising I haven't fallen apart.
At least it's all over now. The next Doctor wasn't nearly as insane as the one before him. He understood that scarves aren't to be worn constantly. He put me back in the wardrobe--far, far into the deepest depths of the wardrobe. I've been extremely happy ever since.
What's that? O, a new Doctor. I suppose he's looking for clothes--that's always the first thing they do. Wait..he isn't--he wouldn't..Not me!