Today, I noticed that my favorite pair of green pants are starting to sprout holes in all sorts of places, including areas where holes aren't a good thing to have--unless you're not a bashful or shy soul. And I am where poorly placed holes are concerned. The world doesn't need a glimpse at what lies beyond, trust me.
As bummed as I am about this discovery, I'm going to look at the pending loss of these pants sometime likely in the very near future in a positive light. I got my money's worth from my beloved greenies. Every penny's worth, actually. My greenies have traveled to a lot of states and seen a lot of sights and met a lot of people. They've endured a lot of hardships and experienced a lot of joys. They've felt rain and snow and sunshine and wind and mud and sand and rocks and leaves and grass and about all the other elements possible other than lava. My greenies have had all sorts of liquids, dirt, and grime spilled, rubbed, and beaten into them and they kept on ticking. They've felt blood, sweat, and tears, and they've partaken in a lot of meals.
I don't like to buy clothes, so I don't do it all that often. I tend to the wear the hell out of what I buy, and so on any particular day I might look like I walked straight out of the 1990s. I really don't care for the most part, though. I stopped caring about the way my clothes looked a long time ago, and it's taken a lot of pressure off as a result. Slip on the greenies, a pair of boots fast-approaching 10 years old, and any one of a number of worn-out shirts, and I'm good. I'm comfortable. I'm at peace. I may look like a vagabond, but who's looking anyway? Even when I cared slightly more about my wardrobe, I didn't get many compliments anyway, so why go to the effort? Besides, I'm not good at buying clothes. It's tedious and boring and overrated, and at the end of the day, I usually come home with stuff that I don't much care for or that looks fairly crappy anyway. I'm good at buying plain T-shirts and white socks and green pants.
I'll miss my greenies, but one pair of pants' demise is another pair of pants' opportunity to become my go-to favorite.
As bummed as I am about this discovery, I'm going to look at the pending loss of these pants sometime likely in the very near future in a positive light. I got my money's worth from my beloved greenies. Every penny's worth, actually. My greenies have traveled to a lot of states and seen a lot of sights and met a lot of people. They've endured a lot of hardships and experienced a lot of joys. They've felt rain and snow and sunshine and wind and mud and sand and rocks and leaves and grass and about all the other elements possible other than lava. My greenies have had all sorts of liquids, dirt, and grime spilled, rubbed, and beaten into them and they kept on ticking. They've felt blood, sweat, and tears, and they've partaken in a lot of meals.
I don't like to buy clothes, so I don't do it all that often. I tend to the wear the hell out of what I buy, and so on any particular day I might look like I walked straight out of the 1990s. I really don't care for the most part, though. I stopped caring about the way my clothes looked a long time ago, and it's taken a lot of pressure off as a result. Slip on the greenies, a pair of boots fast-approaching 10 years old, and any one of a number of worn-out shirts, and I'm good. I'm comfortable. I'm at peace. I may look like a vagabond, but who's looking anyway? Even when I cared slightly more about my wardrobe, I didn't get many compliments anyway, so why go to the effort? Besides, I'm not good at buying clothes. It's tedious and boring and overrated, and at the end of the day, I usually come home with stuff that I don't much care for or that looks fairly crappy anyway. I'm good at buying plain T-shirts and white socks and green pants.
I'll miss my greenies, but one pair of pants' demise is another pair of pants' opportunity to become my go-to favorite.
No comments:
Post a Comment