KOOL-AID: failure’s new clothes

the next instalment of Almost drank the Kool-Aid…


Not a moment longer could I deny the need for clothes. Might have been the Landlord, if truth be told. Yes, was a little humiliated by my wardrobe. And my smell.

For these last few years have been scent free. Did not enjoy being scent free. Felt like scent was my signature. Felt like wasn’t me without it. Plus, have fear of smell. Seriously. And worry, constantly, that I stink. Am a constant washer, previously would never leave the house without deodorant and wet wipes, and always used perfume. I guess it just goes to show my who-gives-a-fuck attitude of late with the whole not-washing and unclean clothes — would never usually let myself get to that state.

Went online, knowing clothes and scent were a must. Guessed size. Bought comfortable clothes; easy to wear. Leggings for comfort, sweaters, long t-shirts. Items I can layer, scarves, a beanie, gloves and a pair of Hunter Wellies, like that worn by the Landlord. And perfume. Thank cripes; perfume.

My parcels arrived today. I watched from my window as Postman Pat delivered a parcel to the landlord — opening the large post box by the gates next to my cottage with a key. Am guessing this is not a usual service. Postman Pat would prefer, I’m sure, if there was a box for me, too. He glowers when he sees me. Yet could not risk the packages being undelivered if I didn’t sign for them — today was on my last clean pair of underwear.

Everything, thankfully, fits. Maybe not thankfully because it means I’ve grown quite a lot in size. Now, at least, I have enough underwear to last me a fortnight straight. And bras which are not mesh-like with wear.

So I guess you could say today was a good day.

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