ODE TO MY PANTS
This evening I had an idea to add a lower shelf beside my dryer. This would give me a convenient spot to store my large rugs and the basket of ironing while providing enough room underneath to slide the box of clean litter and the covered litter box underneath. the cats are loving the privacy and I'm enjoying the extra bit of organization it allowed. I can't explain why, exactly, the top of the dryer and the counter are still as cluttered as ever. Sometimes there is just no winning.
All the hard work was done. The leg supports and pretty brackets were on the shelf. I had planned what would be stored where. It was all coming together just perfectly. I knelt down on the floor so I wouldn't bang my head on the counter top above.
I don't know if I first heard my pants rip or felt the nail rip into my knee as I scooted forward to position the shelf. The heartache is definitely over the pants though. For 17 years I've worn these pants. Now before anyone goes figuring that I haven't gained 25 pounds since high school, I should explain about the pants. They've grown with me. The elastic has stretched as I have and the cotton has softened enough to gain a bit of stretch to it so they fit as loosely and comfortably now, as they did in 1986. They have aged well too. No one would ever guess these pants are older than my children.
I have been telling my husband that I'm going to have to start shopping at Target because they carry the Cherokee brand pants like these and boy have they ever been worth the money I paid for them. There's not a single loose stitch and not one repair has ever had to be made to them...you just don't buy quality like that often anymore. So, naturally, I'm devastated. My husband doesn't understand the love I have for these pants. Why, I'm not sure, since he still has that old Allman Bros t-shirt that has holes all in it. At least my pants still looked good.
I'm no clothes snob, that's for sure. I still have a pair of sweats (Jerzees) I bought in 1984. Of course by now they are a few inches too short and they have several holes in the legs and the waist band is non-existant. Comfy they are though so they stay. I go for comfort over looking good any day - every day, actually. I love the freedom of overalls and If I put a bra on I'm headed to a funeral. I do enjoy skirts but I even have a way of making them look slouchy. I like a long skirt knotted up on one side with a t-shirt. For ultimate comfort I like to wear a sarong and - what else - a t-shirt.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my kids have all preferred to be naked when they were younger. They come by it honest, I reckon. Jake still can't sleep with clothes on, refuses to wear underwear and doesn't even own a pair of socks that fit. Not that I prefer to be naked. I like being completely covered, but I want to be as comfortable as if I was naked. When I was in high school I had a sheet I would dress in, toga style, after I got out of the shower and I slept in my pop's old worn out t-shirts. It's all about comfort.
I'm just a slouch at heart.
This evening I had an idea to add a lower shelf beside my dryer. This would give me a convenient spot to store my large rugs and the basket of ironing while providing enough room underneath to slide the box of clean litter and the covered litter box underneath. the cats are loving the privacy and I'm enjoying the extra bit of organization it allowed. I can't explain why, exactly, the top of the dryer and the counter are still as cluttered as ever. Sometimes there is just no winning.
All the hard work was done. The leg supports and pretty brackets were on the shelf. I had planned what would be stored where. It was all coming together just perfectly. I knelt down on the floor so I wouldn't bang my head on the counter top above.
I don't know if I first heard my pants rip or felt the nail rip into my knee as I scooted forward to position the shelf. The heartache is definitely over the pants though. For 17 years I've worn these pants. Now before anyone goes figuring that I haven't gained 25 pounds since high school, I should explain about the pants. They've grown with me. The elastic has stretched as I have and the cotton has softened enough to gain a bit of stretch to it so they fit as loosely and comfortably now, as they did in 1986. They have aged well too. No one would ever guess these pants are older than my children.
I have been telling my husband that I'm going to have to start shopping at Target because they carry the Cherokee brand pants like these and boy have they ever been worth the money I paid for them. There's not a single loose stitch and not one repair has ever had to be made to them...you just don't buy quality like that often anymore. So, naturally, I'm devastated. My husband doesn't understand the love I have for these pants. Why, I'm not sure, since he still has that old Allman Bros t-shirt that has holes all in it. At least my pants still looked good.
I'm no clothes snob, that's for sure. I still have a pair of sweats (Jerzees) I bought in 1984. Of course by now they are a few inches too short and they have several holes in the legs and the waist band is non-existant. Comfy they are though so they stay. I go for comfort over looking good any day - every day, actually. I love the freedom of overalls and If I put a bra on I'm headed to a funeral. I do enjoy skirts but I even have a way of making them look slouchy. I like a long skirt knotted up on one side with a t-shirt. For ultimate comfort I like to wear a sarong and - what else - a t-shirt.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised that my kids have all preferred to be naked when they were younger. They come by it honest, I reckon. Jake still can't sleep with clothes on, refuses to wear underwear and doesn't even own a pair of socks that fit. Not that I prefer to be naked. I like being completely covered, but I want to be as comfortable as if I was naked. When I was in high school I had a sheet I would dress in, toga style, after I got out of the shower and I slept in my pop's old worn out t-shirts. It's all about comfort.
I'm just a slouch at heart.
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