There’s a mystery that lives in my dressing room.
I say dressing room – but that’s actually just a fancy word for the spare bedroom that is home to my two huge wardrobes and the bed/couch-creation that contains all of the laundry-I-didn’t-yet-fold.
Foldin’ laundy is the fucking worst of the entire world of chores imho. There’s nothing I hate more – which means that there’s often a pile of two or three loads of laundry chilling there, anxiously awaiting to be folded (which pretty much never happens). It only dissappears when people stay over and said bed-couch is needed for sleeping purposes. The more guests I have – the cleaner my house becomes. Magic!
However, the case of the unfolded laundry is NOT the mystery that lives in my dressing room.
Nope. This mystery is far more mysterious. Obviously. Or it wouldn’t be called a mystery.
It’s the mystery of the trackpants (I bet you’re super-shocked after reading the title to the blog, right?). Now, I realize that trackpants (or sweatpants, or jogging pants, or sweats or whatever the hell you call them) aren’t usually very mysterious items. And if I’m being honest – the ones that are the main character in this mystery – aren’t really that special either. They’re just trackpants.
THE MYSTERY, however, IS HOW THEY CAME TO LIVE IN MY WARDROBE.
I own quite a lot of trackpants and sports leggings, actually. Mostly because they’re idiotically comfortable to wear around the house, but also because I can’t very well show up to softball practice in my normal office attire. So there’s a good 10+ sweats that I own and actively wear. Nothing to mysterious there, so far. But every now and then, when my favorite ones to wear have been worn and ended up in the laundry-not-yet-laundered (very close related to the pile of laundry-I-didn’t-yet-fold) I pull out….the mystery trackpants.
First off – I’m a total Puma/Nike girl when it comes to actual sweatpants. All of my purchases are from this category. And when it comes to sportsleggings – my requirement is usually just ‘tight, not seethrough and colorful’.
So the fact that there’s a sort of shimmery/shiny pair of ‘Cedar Wood State’ soccerpants, with zippers around the ankles and ACTUAL POCKETS in my wardrobe, that I would personally never buy – IS a mystery.
I know I’ve stolen them from someone. Probably most definitely an ex partner. And that only adds to the mystery – because for the life of me, I cannot remember WHICH ONE.
A disclaimer: I am not the standard rom-com gorgeous girlfriend that aimlessly wanders around the house in her boyfriends carelessly unbuttoned shirt, looking all adorable, while making pancakes. And I am not the evil hoodie-hoarding kind of kleptomaniac who plots to acquire all of her partners most favorite hoodies and sweaters.
(Although this gorgeous Thomas Rhett song makes me wish I was)
But I am known to slip into someone elses pants when convenience calls for it (convenience usually being me showing up to a date in stockings and dresses and leaving in the way-more-comfy sweats). Even when that mostly leads to guys exclaiming ‘Noooooo, you’ll stretch them!!!!’
(Hint: if you like your silverware, relationship and face intact – that’s something you best not actually say out loud to any girl. Even if it’s totally true.). Because apparently guys, according to clothing companies, don’t have hips or asses, which means they’re sorta tight in places mine usually aren’t.
They’re definitely someone-that’s-Not-me’s trackpants, in that regard.
Another disclaimer: I do NOT keep trophies from exes. Or anything at all. Really. A relationship ends – and I meticulously remove any and all items from the house that carry any memory (or previous ownership) of theirs. Clean slate method, all the way. Unless they’re the must-have can’t-live-without category, obviously. Not going to throw out my curtains because I just happened to buy them together with an ex in a hilarious shopping trip of doom. Although, seeing as I’ve (finally) ordered new (not-see-through-y) curtains – they’re going to bite the dust soon enough, regardless.
Somehow, though, these trackpants have made it through this process of rage-cleaning and remain in my wardrobe. So every time I pull them out of there, and slip them on – I get this same ‘THESE ARE NOT MINE’ moment (Only to realize I don’t have the slightest clue whose they were). Something that I find hilarious enough not to discard them, and wear them every now and then. I guess they sorta keep proving to me that you CAN get over things. As soon as your memory gives out. Which, knowing my brain – should be soon enough for everything and everyone.
Best. Mystery. Ever.