Hi. My name is Danielle and I’m an addict.
I say this knowing full well what 90% of you already think this post is going to be about. And you are wrong. While I do spend my late nights, of which there are many, writing odes to coffee and love songs to caffeine in general, and while the ridiculously adverse physical reaction I have to a lack of these wondrous friends of mine does point to a teeny, tiny, almost insignificant (read: huge) physical dependence, I am here to talk about something else.
This is about my man-clothes filching.
I have noticed that I have a tendency to procure the castoffs of important males in my life. I’m pretty sure this trend started because Daddy is, like everyone else in my family, a huge packrat and still had large amounts of his wardrobe from the seventies. Apparently at that time, Daddy was a much more gangly fellow, so his college t-shirt and I get along real well.
But this addiction has spread beyond the confines of the family sphere, cause really, if man-clothes that fit are good, man-clothes that I swim in must be ten* times better, right?
I have, over the years since I realized that boys don’t actually have kooties (well some of them do, but really those guys should have been paying better attention in health class), acquired for some length of time, a Raiders Drum and Bugle Corps hat, a Princeton t-shirt, the best pair of sweat pants on planet Earth, a Jimmy John’s hat, mouse boxers, a UVa t-shirt (covers her head and curls up in a ball), a Homestar Runner Sweatshirt that I practically live in, a ski-sweater, and, most recently, a Jimmy John’s uniform shirt, complete with giant bleach stain. Now in my defense, items 2, 4, 6, 8 were too small for their original he-owners, 1 I gave back after a few months, 5 and 7 have big rips in them (the former of which may or may not have caused me to flash my lady parts at the Hoggish Greedly-looking exterminator in my old building), and 9 has the aforementioned stain. So really I should only feel bad about 3…but frankly if Dave wants them back he’ll have to take them off my cold, lifeless body, and I’m pretty sure that would leave him with some explaining to do.
So how’s that for rationalizing?
…now someone said there would be coffee after this meeting, and they better not have been lying!
*Math based on a fictitious computing scale and may have no actual basis in reality.