This is dedicated to Jess, who will laugh at me.
Anyone who's been in my house (or read my journal) knows I'm a filthy, filthy slob. I don't really understand the value of the clothes hanger, and I think bookshelves are very pretty but so far away.
I also have a particular quirk of buying things and leaving them in the bag. Say it's a new shirt --it's not like I'm going to hang it up, and why throw it on the pile? So it stays safe in its bag until I'm ready for it.
Now combine that with an unholy mess, and occasionally, the new things go missing in action. "Woe is me," I think, if I actually manage to remember I *had* a new thing at all. Which I usually don't.
And that, my tragical memory, is what makes my bad habits such a blessing. I've been rotten poor this month, with a hunger for shopping and no way to feed it. This morning, while collecting laundry from the piles of clothes and empty bags that have collected in the two months since I last threw some out, I picked up a shopping bag that was not empty. "Hello," I said. "What's this?"
A new shirt, tags still on, and a lovely one at that. Like shopping on my own bedroom floor. My filth and forgetfulness got together behind my back and went in on a perfect birthday present. Thanks, guys.
