Maybe it's the 'nice' letter I received from the IRS yesterday, or the fact that my day started at 2:45 in the morning or that it's payday and therefore also bill day, but I am in a foul mood. This morning, as I was trying desperately to scrub spit up out of my only clean pair of pants that fit, I lamented the numerous articles of perfectly good, spit up free clothing hanging in my closet. Clothes that haven't seen daylight in nearly a year. Neglected clothes. Oh, how I miss my clothes! My beautiful slacks from Banana Republic that I got such a great deal on and feel as though they were made out of silk. The stylish heels that won't look good with cargo pants. My knit tops that showed off my flat tummy and small waist. My fun shirts that I never gave a second thought about being able to discretely pull out the goods before putting on. The strapless, brocade, mid-thigh length, dress; The Little Black Dress, that looks just like something Reese Witherspoon might wear on the red carpet, that I paid $10.00 for. My '$50.00-Boob-Job-Bras' that are hanging, untouched, on the back of the bathroom door. I think of the hours I spent carefully combing sale racks and thoughtfully picking out only those pieces with classic tailoring, quality stitching and materials. I think of the care I took to follow the washing instructions to the letter so my garments would last me season after season. Is it ridiculous to be so attached to my clothing? Absolutely. Do I care? No. I love my clothes. I miss my clothes.
Micha has suggested buying a few new things. This is like telling someone who as just lost their beloved dog of the last 15 years to buy a new puppy. If, God forbid, my house burnt down and I lost all my clothes, I'd have a memorial service for them. Is it healthy to be this attached to my clothes? Probably not. Do I care? No. I miss my clothes. Occasionally, I pull things on, as far as they will go without pulling the seams, to remember how good I feel in them. A pair of slacks I wore to an interview because they make me feel confident, the dress I wore on a date because it makes me feel sexy, the top I wore to a concert because it made me feel like a Rock Star. Don't get me wrong, I'd feel like a confident and sexy Rock Star if I was playing Guitar Hero in a burlap sack. It's sort of like a sundae that has fudge and whip cream and a cherry versus a sundae that just has fudge. The latter is still a sundae, technically, but the one with whip cream and a cherry is a sundae! My clothes are the whipped cream with a cherry on top. I miss my clothes.
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