See, she was talking about the fact that she wears a small number of clothes in a constant rotation, so that she's not wearing dirty clothes of course, but just the same, like, five things ALL the time.
I read this and I nodded. Yes, Kris and I are sister-girls. In more ways than the constant wearing of a few key pieces of hideous clothing (her and I both), but I won't go into the other ways we're the same since they're mostly relevant and amusing just to the two of us. And you really just want to know why people will think this post is stupid, so I'll keep going.
So, I read Kris's post and I reflected on the Shame that I have lurking at the bottom of my clothes hamper. This Shame has been there for a week, ever since I decided to wear The Shame to go mushroom hunting with a friend of mine, which involved some serious hiking and trekking and sliding (because I'm clumsy and was holding a leashed and excited dog) which then resulted in some tearing asunder of The Shame in some key locations.
FYI: The Shame is a pair of pants.
But not just any pair of pants - My Favorite Pair of Pants. Ever.
My friends, when I moved back to NorCal from Arizona, I was very broke and also somewhat irresponsible. Meaning that when I went to the mall with my roommates and watched them buy clothes, I too, bought clothes. On a credit card. That had hit its limit LONG ago. Which I had not paid. Because I didn't have a post-college job yet and was excruciatingly broke. But I was hopeful! I was going to get a job! And be able to fend off the Visa Monsters!
So, when I tried on this great fabulous pair of cargo pants at Abercrombie (a store I can no longer enter due to the LOUDEST MUSIC EVER) and they fit like all super great and I loved them with all my heart and saw that they cost $65 which seemed impressively high at the time, I just totally whipped out the maxed out Visa and bought them. Overdraft charges be damned!
And I'll tell you, all worth it.
I've worn these pants no less than one million times. Seriously, like at least once a week since I bought them ELEVEN years ago. I can't even count high enough to show you the math on that, but I daresay it's impressive. Even with the overdraft charge on the credit card and the incalculable interest I paid before I was able to pay off that Visa card and shun credit debt in all forms forever (which I'm a total psycho about now. Don't even get me started.), like four years later when I got a proper job that paid a living wage.
What you might imagine, even from a pair of pants as awesome as I've made these out to be (THEY'RE AWESOME. EVEN NOW. WITH THE RIPPED ASS YOU WILL SEE IN A MINUTE.), they've suffered some wear and tear over time.
No biggie - I'm used to that.
I'm also used to finding ways to limp along my favorite items of clothing for waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long to the point where I have to pick and choose when to wear these fragile items of antiquity based on the amount of activity I plan to encounter and whether I will be venturing near anything sharp or abrasive.
|Do not wear near open flame or, like, open nail clippers.|
These are real concerns when you're wearing pants that have been patched together, sew together, had bits of pockets and superfluous lining transplanted to patch up other areas and basically held together by sheer will and determination over years of constant wear.
|The ass of these pants is a patchwork quilt of pocket pieces and LOVE.|
And then, on Sunday because apparently that's the day I'm most optimistic about my textile repair work, I slid on these perfectly comfortable do-it-all pants and wandered out into the god damned woods for an extended trek for mushrooms.
|Because obviously pants that are practically see-through with wear are good ones for backcountry adventures.|
Sadly, for the pants, mushrooms are not found conveniently along the hiking path or even on level ground. No, friends, they are found on damp slopes beneath trees (mostly oaks) and under leaf litter and bits of detritus that one must bend down to gently dust away while also balancing carefully because the other hand that's not gently fumfering about for chanterelles is holding a dog on a mission to capture every squirrel in All of Nature.
It was during one of these moments, when due to the squirrel-mad dog's pulling and my poor balance on the slippery hill, I fell down. Which, if you're me, is not a really big deal. It happens. Often.
However, and this actually wasn't that surprising either since it happens, too (and often), I heard an ominous ripping sound.
The last repair job I did - which had been a doozy and involved the pocket lining of the two side pockets that were now not pockets anymore at all - had been destroyed. Rendered ineffective. Ruined. Done for. Irreparable.
|This unzips to BEHOLD...nothing. The pocket was sewn shut and used as a patch years ago.|
And I knew two things immediately:
1. I will get up and my ass will be showing.
2. These pants are done. They are no longer able to be patched or repaired.
So, yes, I stood up and found both of these things to be true. Thankfully, I was hiking with an old friend who actually knew me back when these pants were new and in full working order and she just laughed and told me she couldn't see my ass, so no biggie.
You gotta love old friends. They lie so sweetly.
Then she walked in front of me for the rest of the hike.
So, ever since then, these beloved pants of mine have been in a crumpled heap in the bottom of my hamper, totally covered with mushroom hiking dirt by the way, biding their time while I figure out how to dispose of them properly so that I won't be tempted to drag them back out and pull them through the sewing machine just one more time.
They've had their just one more time about six times now and I think Bubba's about to light them on fire while I'm wearing them if I have the gall to continue to do so.
SO - here I am. Writing a blog post to say goodbye to my favorite pair of pants of all time. And to promise you all that I will be throwing these away in next week's garbage pick up because I can't even be trusted to have them in the house for a craft project or rags or anything because I will totally forget about all my promises and give them another just one more time.
And that's just grotesque.
Meanwhile, I am now considering Part 2 of this series of posts that people who think blogs are stupid will use as examples of why blogs are stupid: A history of the clothes I've worn well past their prime and the asses that were ripped from them.
I'm a bit surprised to find that I can think of four pairs of pants off the top of my head that fit neatly into this category. Oh, but if I wrote the post, I'd totally cry. And I'd try to go hunt their wayward bits down and sew them all back together in a Hannibal-esque bodysuit of threadbare shame...
Another time, then.