I have demonstrated in the past my facility with buying things. I am a skilled spender of moneys. But there is the odd psychological corner where I'm almost incapable of parting with dollars, no matter how urgent the need. Like for sweatpants, say.
Joel had to buy me a new pair last Christmas to replace those treasures, which were given to me by an old roommate in 2001 who had in turn gotten them from a thrift shop. They were many hands old. I had to wear them over shorts to maintain any mystery.
Since I married Joel I've stopped buying gym shoes from Payless and wearing them for years (and, oddly, my knees have much improved) but I hold out on other gym strip items until the last second. These shorts I accidentally stole from a different old roommate (sorry, Chels) and wore into the ground.
I bought new shorts for $12 and they shrunk IMMEDIATELY but I refuse to stop wearing them or to buy new ones because I'd rather expose my upper-upper-thighs to the world than spend another $12 on something like gym shorts.
Yesterday Joel and I took our annual trip to the Boxing-Week mall to spend our Christmas cheques. Joel only clothes-shops once a year, so he has to get a new EVERYTHING, but I only spent $14 because I am going to New York in May (you may recall). I did buy a new $5 yellow tank, because $5 yellow tanks are my go-to layering option, and also my jogging garment of choice. Every year the new $5 yellow tank becomes my layering-tank, and the old layering-tank replaces the jogging-tank, which gets turfed for indecent exposure and loss of attractive mustardyness. Behold.
It looks like a detergent commercial.