Dear studded black booty shorts,
We had some good times together, didn't we? You were always there for me when a mutual friend invited me to his concerts and I felt too bad to say no. Do you remember that one time with the really shitty guitarist? That was the first time I tried a White Russian. I got very drunk. Good times.
Dear olive pencil skirt,
We had a rough start at the beginning. The first time I wore you, I didn't realize that the inner piece was bunched up all day, and I was in a constant wedgie. After we reconciled, I always kept you by my side for those days when pants were just too much effort. Now you slip down over my hips. Alas...
Dear white button down shirt,
You used to make me feel fancy, like a Pinterest-worthy model. Now you look like a cloak, and I look vaguely racist.
Dear favorite sweater,
I refuse to accept that you are past your prime. You are now my new favorite dress.
I hope you don't take this personally. I just need to take this time to focus on myself. I've surrounded myself with clothes that are newer, funner, and more exciting. You understand, don't you? I'm just not the same person as I was before. I'm off to a better wardrobe. I hope you fare well in the donation bin. (Except for you, favorite sweater, you're staying.) KCKO
No comments:
Post a Comment