On a Thursday some time ago, I grabbed a pair of pants off of a hanger in my closet to put on and realized they weren’t mine or Marcia’s. (We share a closet.) For some reason, it disturbed me more than I thought it would. To have someone else's pants in your closet and not know why? Marcia was already at work and I was not really sure how it happened. They were huge; the waist was size 36. I am a 33. They were nice pants--actually three pairs. But to have someone else's pants in your closet? I felt violated. And then I realized the dry cleaners must have made a mistake. And then I figured that someone else must have some of my pants, even though I wasn't sure that I was missing any pants. That thought bothered me too. I did know that not all of my pants were in our closet. I also knew Marcia recently dropped some clothes off at the dry cleaners and they wouldn't have been finished yet. Or maybe Marcia threw out some of my clothes because they were no longer nice enough...
by Chris Rainey. This is a blog of my journaling, essays, opinion pieces, religious satire, and creative writing.