My knickers have holes in them and I still wear them.
There, I said it. I don't even care.
I mean, I cared a little bit when I had the back accident and went to hospital and everyone saw my holey undies. I was somewhat ashamed, but to be honest the pain was so distracting that I really only gave it a care factor of about 2. This, after years of my mum telling me that I would care very, very deeply if I was hit by a bus and everyone saw the state of my knickers. Fact is, you don't really care. Not at all.
I wear holey knickers because they are comfortable and because I can't be bothered buying the required amount of pants necessary to keep me hole-free for life. I also can't be bothered mending the holes because that would involve mending the holes.
As I write this I am also wearing holey pyjamas. These particular pyjamas (which are worn and comfy and soft) have a hole in a most inappropriate place were these pyjamas ever to be worn outside the house, which they will not be. Mind you, my husbie probably thinks the hole is very appropriate indeed but this is not that kind of blog (and frankly, these are not those kind of pyjamas).
Holey clothes. I own them, I wear them and I'm not even a little bit ashamed. Except that one time when The Badoo insisted on constantly sticking her baby finger into a hole in my t-shirt when I was presenting to 50 corporate women on work/life balance. That hole (which I foolishly thought was covered by my schmick suit jacket) seemed to mock every single thing I had to say about finding your balance and having your all. Every single thing.
But, fear not, I still wear that t-shirt three years later and it has more holes than ever before. Why, just last week I wore that shirt to do canteen duty at the school and didn't even blink when a kid said, "Are you putting that t-shirt into the bags for the Smith Family in the school hall?" Didn't even blink. I just smoothed that t-shirt down over my skirt with the bleach stains on it and kept serving up the sausage rolls.
So, there you have it. I am a Holey Clothes (and Bleachy Pants) Wearer and I'm proud...enough.... sort of... well, not exactly proud, but unapologetic. Yes, that's it. I'm an Unapologetic Holey, Bleachy Clothes Wearer.
[Image from A Beautiful Mess]