My Clothes Go To Heaven And I Become An Inventor

ATTENTION: By the time you read this, my battle with my English paper will be over.  It will be a tough war, but I must face my opponent.  If an entirely unrelated post follows this message, you will know I slayed the monster.  If no post follows, I was defeated and eaten alive by a 12 page word document.

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WOO!  I won!  Suck it, paper!

On to something completely different!

My mom has this thing.  This kind of tic or compulsion, if you will.  If she sees a hole, no matter the size, in any article of clothing I own, she wants to throw it out.  Nay, she DEMANDS I throw it out.  I don't find this to be very fair.  I wear the pants, not her.  

Oh, haha... It's like a man of the house joke...

Good one?

I like getting all the wear I can out of my clothes.  I have trouble finding clothes I like and I don't like wasting money, so I figured my hesitance would be embraced.  Au contraire.  She must view the holes in my clothes as some kind of territorial challenge; some primal instinct triggered by how threadbare my jeans are.  There are holes because I wear them so much!  Is that not the entire point of owning clothes you like?  To wear them all the time until there is nothing left?

I think the point is to keep you from walking through King's Supermarket in the nude.

But, sure.  Yours works too.

So, for a long time I would just let her have her way to avoid arguments.  I would like a shirt, I would wear it, a tiny hole would for in the armpit, I no longer got to enjoy my shirt.  This went on for some time and I lost many fine t-shirts.  Then, one day she went too far.  I had a Bouncing Souls shirt I had gotten my freshman year of high school.  It was my favorite shirt and I intended to keep it forever.

Yea.  I don't know why I'm holding that either.

My mother, using her hole-spotting hawk vision, saw a hole in the armpit and one on the shoulder.  She demanded I throw it away.  I begged and pleaded, but it was no use.  The shirt was thrown out and I've been bitter ever since.

Nothing says maturity like a 5 year long grudge over a ratty t-shirt.

Oh how far you've come.

I didn't understand why I had to throw out all my comfortable, broken in clothes.  So what if their were some holes?  She didn't have to wear them!  Well, I actually think I figured out the purpose of getting rid of old clothes.  Two nights ago I was wearing a pair of my older boxers in bed.  While scratching my *Ahem* posterior, the boxers tore right down the middle.  Imagine my surprise!

Good job.  You invented the butt fly.

You're going right up there with Thomas Edison and Henry Ford.

Perhaps some newer clothes wouldn't be so bad...  Having your underwear tear right down the middle isn't a risk I'm interested in taking twice.  (I didn't know I was taking it once).  So, fine.  I'll wear the new clothes and throw out my beloved old ones.  It's a shame, but I guess it beats having your clothes commit suicide in public.

R.I.P clothes.

I'll bury you out back 'cause you would probably clog the toilet.

Oh! To all of you who read my blog, but are not friends with me on Facebook or Twitter.  I just got over a thousand views and I want to thank you all for your support.  I started this blog to make people laugh and it means a lot that so many people do just that.  Expect much, much more.