But it’s the only appropriate phrase I could come up with for this post.
In recent years, I have been blessed [ha!] with great storage space, much more than is normal for city life. These are two of my four closets in my present apartment.
The issue is that I have expanded to fill the space, all while doing a bit of unfortunate expanding myself. Stupid thirties. As a result, I have too many pairs of expensive jeans that no longer fit occupying under-the-bed boxes stashed in various parts of my apartment. The closets are full.
I hung onto the jeans, figuring I’d get my act together and lose the weight.
Here’s the thing: I neglected to account for the fact that as I inch closer to forty, low-rise jeans would be the last damn thing I wanted to wear. It’s hard to remember how or why I ever wore jeans with a six or seven inch rise. Also, some of the jeans are white.
Those days are over. Good riddance, youth.
[PS If you’re young, thinner than me and might want to buy some Citizens of Humanity and 7 for All Mankind jeans cheap, email BadChicklette at Gmail]