A Long Story About Sweatpants

Tonight Curtis headed out the front door with a half-filled garbage sack that screamed investigate me! After I asked what is was, he said it was just some clothes he needed to give away. Curt has a habit of getting rid of some of his most stylish clothes, particularly clothes that I have bought for him. I think sometimes he just doesn't have the courage to reach his style potential. For example, two years ago I bought him the sickest Caffeine track jacket in NYC. (Did I pull "sickest" off, y'all? Because I've been hearing it a lot but haven't felt edgy enough to say it.) I had to coerce him into ever wearing it and when it finally debuted at a party, people were blown away by his style. They said things like, "Only Curt could pull that off," and, "Man, where did you get that awesome jacket?" I was very pleased and thought he would learn to trust me. Sometimes I know what I'm talking about! Don't hate me, but I was not about to see that crazy track jacket go in the bin outside Walmart tonight.

Most of the items got my approval for donation. One nice button-down shirt I got him for our first married Christmas didn't make it. I have a hard time saying goodbye to sentimental things. Another item, which should never have been in the bag because no one on earth would want it, was a pair of sweatpants.

These were your run-of-the-mill, black, fluffy cotton, elastic at the ankle, classic sweatpants. There's no telling how old they are, but they were suitable for Curt's softball games. At some point he cut off the elastic at the ankles. Then he cut out the bulky pockets because they were adding about six inches to his hips. Then they acquired major paint stains when we decided to renovate our house when I was in my third trimester of pregnancy. Fun! Even though I should never have been painting, I painted. In fact, Janelle and I sat side by side on the floor and painted my kitchen cabinet doors in what is now the nursery. If our children have behavioral disorders we'll know why. In all the painting I needed some clothes to mess up. Large clothes to mess up.

So Curt gave me these sweatpants for painting in. Mind you, Curt's legs are four inches shorter than mine. He is one inch taller than me, but we obviously have some weird proportional differences. When we were newly married and I would pull his jeans out of the dryer, I would gasp in horror thinking I had shrunken my gloriously long jeans. I know better now. But seriously, don't mess with a woman's jeans.

Back to the black sweatpants. We spent so many late nights in this house, priming and painting. It could get very cold in here, so I always wore the sweatpants. Please picture this with me. A 5 foot 8 blond woman with shiny, thick pregnancy hair (I'm sorry, I can't let it go), in some huge grungy t-shirt with a sizable tummy (8 months), in black sweatpants stained with white paint, and four inches of bright white ankles between her tennis shoes and the sweatpants. Oh, and the stubs of the cutout pockets were often sticking out to the side. I had never been more lovely.

These pants should have only one destination - the trash can. But I'm not ready to let them go yet. They remind me of the excitement of moving in to our first house, getting ready for the arrival our first child, and spending countless hours working side by side on a renovation project that nearly sent us into counseling. If you're looking to test yourself in the area of submission, renovation is the way to do it. I thought I did pretty well, but since I can't even submit to my husband's choices for giving away his clothes, maybe I still have some issues.