The path of the epidemic finally reaches the wardrobe

One of the victims of the epidemic turned out to be some of my clothes.

Well, most of my clothes. In fact, all of my clothes, except for half a dozen T-shirts and comfy non-flannel clothes called “lounge pants.”

Everything else in my closet can go, probably should, and is likely to, if I keep going the rough road I’m on. The pants that I might once describe as “work clothes” were first in the toss pile. They never looked so comfortable, they now feel like two hard-boiled cardboard tubes connected at the top with an unrecognizable scratch substance. In addition, my work clothes now are comfortable shirts and pants with holes and bleached spots.

Margo Bartlett

On top of the pants, I stack shirts, blouses, tanks, and random clothes whose only fashion statement is the “clearance rack.” This will empty my upper wardrobe, since shirts that have already been rotated are kept in my dresser drawers.

Speaking of my dresser drawers, I saw a video the other day of a Japanese subway train full of passengers, with more attempt to board the plane as attendees were pushing people onto the train with all their might before working to close the doors on protruding body parts. My dresser drawers are just like that, except for human hips and elbows. Everything is voluntarily stacked together, and brute force must be used to get rid of clean laundry. As long as I can close the drawer without hanging anything, I am satisfied.

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