My trousers guilted me into going to the gym by commiting suicide

I love my clothes. And my clothes love me.
Not only do they keep me warm in these chilling wintery times and do they provide  a cover up for  my more unsightly body parts, they are also very thoughtful and obviously concerned for my wellbeing.

How so you ask ? How can a lifeless item show concern for its owners wellbeing? Clothes are not living, breathing things, unless you are some kind of Cruella Devil-type of person who happens to care enough for the doggies to let them live and just elegantly drapes one or two over her shoulders by way of a fur wrap.

Or if you are Lady Gaga. I confess that I haven’t seen every wacky outfit she wears – because with all those wardrobe changes, who has the time to keep up – but I bet she wore something living and breathing as part of her costume du jour once. If she hasn’t done it yet : Madame Gaga, please credit me when people ask you were you got the idea to wear a live kitten by way of a tiara.

But back to the love my clothes bear me.

As we all know January is a bit of a heavy month in the social gathering area. This is only natural. Nobody is debating the need to celebrate the New Year and the fact that we survived the old one. And of course there is food and drink, you don’t invite people over and don’t offer them some refreshment. This would be beyond rude. And in case you are wondering: yes it is equally impolite NOT to eat the offered food and refuse a drink. It does not necessary have to be alcoholic, we are very open minded about what people drink, but go to a party = drink something, even if it is only a diet coke.

All this eating and drinking has on slight downside to it. It takes up so much of your time that you are left with little or no time to go to the gym.

And there is where my new trousers came to the rescue. They chose to sacrifice themselves for my wellbeing. Seam after seam burst just so that I would remember that it had indeed been quite a while since I last had some alone – time with a treadmill.

It would be a dishonor to my trouser’s memory if I did not already have my gym bag packed and stocked my refrigerator with healthy food options.

I will forever be grateful to my trousers self-sacrifice and promise to be a good girl and attend the gym at least once a week.

But I only wish they did not choose to kill themselves at the office right before my lunch break and on the day I wore a thong.

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