I don't know if This Bug has ever mentioned it before, but I absolutely hate moving. Hate. Moving. Feel me? The packing. The lifting. The unpacking. It'll be here before I know it. Honestly, I am dreading it with every fiber of my body but that's not my point. Presently I'm faced with the laborious task going through my closet to figure out what goes and what stays. This would be so much easier if I had a group of girlfriends sitting on my bed with Yay or Nay signs like Carrie did in the Sex and The City movie, but nope. No such luck. It's just me. Me, the iPod and my impaired judgment after hours of separating countless garments. I don't regret most of my fashion choices per se, I'm just annoyed that a lot of it no longer fits my new but old but new frame. (I haven't been this size since high school) Anyway, while going through this daunting accumulation of clothes, I came across something that I almost completely forgot about.
We all know there are some things in this world that you're just better off buying for yourself rather than receiving it as a gift. Everyone has something that you just don't trust anyone else to get for you. For me, it's watches. No matter how nice a watch may be- I am almost never fully satisfied unless I handpicked it myself, but I digress. Some things do not need to be given as a gift. Case and point: Leather pants. When I came across these ancient slacks in my closet the other day I instantly remembered how confused I was to get such a strange gift for Christmas. Grateful yes, but confused all the same. You see, I got these pants from a dude I was seeing off and on for the better part of a year. That may sound intimate enough to receive leather pants from someone, but the truth is- we didn't really know each other that well. Obviously. The pants were not something I'd get for myself, let alone want someone else to get for me.
Now, I would love to tell you that the infamous leather jeans fit like the pair on the left. Love to. But facts are facts. What I unwrapped that fateful December day many moons ago... looked more like the image to the right. When I tried them on...it looked like I had a penis. I'm not kidding. There's no other way to put it. The crotch was mad long, Son. It looked like a nice sized package behind the zipper. What the? But I accepted them graciously and promptly put them away. Needless to say they never made it outdoors. Until now.
Anyway, in my quest to rid myself of excess baggage at my new place- someone at the Salvation Army is going to reap the benefits of my no longer impaired judgment. I'm talking about the guy, not the pants. We stopped seeing each other shortly after Jesus' birthday that year. Maybe someone else can fill them out in ways I never dreamed of. Who knows. What I do know is that by far, that was the weirdest gift I've ever gotten. It just completely missed the mark. This is what I have to look forward to. Sorting. Tossing. Keeping. Regretting. And rejoicing that I can part with horrible articles of clothing like that one. Word!
And now, a word from our
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