Linking up with my vodka buddy DearBabyG once again, to get my weekly whine on. As opposed to my daily wine. The two of which are never to be confused, but often occur simultaneously, funnily enough.
So this week I’m all about taking out the trash. Fear not LiLo, I’m not speaking in the metaphoric sense of the trash of society.
I’m talking literal tash-worthy fashion that #1Hubby has hoarded over the years.
Stuff like this:
|Girlyman shirt complete with fetching powder blue floral embroidery.|
I know what you’re thinking. How did I ever find someone who would wear this, alluring enough to bump uglies even once, let alone multiple times resulting in marriage and offspring?
Because he’s never ever worn it in the SEVENTEEN YEARS that we’ve been together.
So why do I have to house such monstrosities, FFS!?
That is valuable wardrobe space that could be holding my not so haute couture, if it wasn’t for his crap clothing that was poor taste back in the 80’s, so poor that it’s one of the few trends to have never staged a come back. Along with the bright lycra leotards designed to push the tights worn underneath so far up your butt crack that if you were to cough while exercising, you’d choke on them and be able to wipe the sweat from your brow.
To be fair, my clothing would be shoved in drawers and neatly thrown on the floor like always, it’s just the principal of the wasted hanging space being abused by these monstrosities, FFS!?
And next up I present to you, this gem:
|Aloha vomitshorts! Sadly, these are worn. Regularly.|
I repeat : SHUDDER
Wrong on many levels. I have tried to throw this out / gift it to Good Sammy’s a number of times. I swear the man has a radar for crap (shutup) because he manages to casually saunter into the bedroom while I’m madly shoving it to the bottom of a trash bag, underneath the rest of the family’s old clothing.
For real, he’s come home in the middle of the day, for a surprise visit, on the one single day in 6 month that I tried to funeralise this piece of crap, FFS!?
This next one just makes me weepy. Weepy sad, and weepy from hurty eyes every time my vision is assaulted by this thing :
|It's shiny, it's silky, it's so very very wrong.|
SHUDDER AND WEEP
Am I the only one with a husband who is more fashion-backward than fashion-forward, and won’t discard his poorly fashion choices from yesteryear, FFS!?