Having an organized and stylish place to keep your weed that you can leave out in plain sight is an option any adult deserves.
As I continue to crowdsource my stranger ticks in this safe and sacred place, it has become increasingly apparent that I am not forever alone. You weirdos are a wondrous quilt of "Can I get an Amen?" online camaraderie. And that's the whole point of community, right? Realizing that thing you do isn't all that bad or embarrassing or selfish or totally fucking disgusting?
That's exactly why today I don't feel the least bit irrational about my "jeans graveyard."
Because of xoJane commenter Wicked Rita, I am no longer ashamed of a leaning tower of pants I shut my eyes against every time I opened my closet doors. Wicked found it in her heart to commiserate with me over the pending loss of my beloved boots by sharing the story of her own refusal to throw away jeans well past their wear-by decade.
"I had a pair of Levi's for about 10 years that I wore until they literally fell apart around me," she wrote. "The hems were shredded (if my pants don't touch the ground when I'm in flats they're not worth my time), there were holes in both knees, all along the thighs, shredded around the calves and waist, and quite threadbare. When the crotch finally gave out, I stopped wearing them. But I still have them in my closet 2 years later. I can't bear to part with them."
I think I'm in love.
There are presently more than TEN pairs of jeans taking up valuable air space in my already cramped clothes vault because I cannot bring myself to throw away the memories of sizes past.
It's not that they are hole-ly, ripped, shredded or otherwise destroyed. No, I still believe the lived-in look is fetch. Instead these jeans don't even remotely come close to fitting me anymore. Like cannot-make-it-past-my-thighs-unless-I-surgically-remove-my-thighs type small. Like was-I-gravely-ill-for-a-year-and-didn't-know-it tiny.
I've never been one of those ladies who lunches on air just to fit into an outfit from three years ago. I don't buy "inspirational" clothes in sizes too small. And yet, here I am with a stack of pants that are more than a stomach flu away.
What gives? Well, mostly I think it's my latent poor kid mentality rearing its grateful little head. There was a time when I thought having a pair of brand new Gap jeans was THE ULTIMATE sign of wealth and security. So these days being confronted with a pile of designer duds I can't even fit is like how some days I open the fridge just to gape at all the bounty therein. For me, it's a shot in the arm of accomplishment. I acknowledge how hoarder-ish this sounds. But self-awareness has to be the first step to the donation bin.
Are there some random things you just can't bring yourself to part with because they remind you of how far you've come?