This is what I got as thanks for my nuanced and thoughtful narrative of yesterday on loathing and loss:

From: Mom (2:12 am)

I did NOT throw away that trashy old t-shirt!  You are taking literary license too far.

 mom xoxoxoxox

From: Me (5:25 pm)

You totally tried to throw it away once and I caught you.  No lie!

Consequently I will be BURIED in it.  Not really, I just like it because it’s so thin and soft, but I don’t really wear it outside the house.

From: Mom (6:10 pm)

I do not recall such an incident with that shirt although I really disliked it; you must have dreamed it.  I learned my lesson early, when you were about four, when you looked in the trash and saw that I was throwing away something that you weren’t ready to let go of.  I had already had similar discussions with your father who also likes to go dumpster diving.  You retrieved it and acted so hurt that I would discard something so precious to you.  Who knew?  I learned to put stuff in the bottom of the bags I dumped used kitty litter in – sneaky, huh?  I’m glad you still have the shirt if you love it so much, and if you die first, I will see that you wear it in your open casket and are then buried in it.

Please note the cunning use of Mom-guage (that’s like language, but with moms!  Think it will catch on?) present here.  In the first email, we see the harmless tee-shirt described as “trashy” (foreshadowing after the fact!).  I have also taken things too far, as in “give a kid an inch and she’ll take a yard, and then wear something slutty at the same time.”  Classic mom stuff.

In the second email, she denies memory of – and therefore responsibility for –  the incident.  She turns it on me nicely with, “you must have dreamed it.”  I am a confabulator, see, and my own memory is not to be trusted.  Next, we understand that I am an irredeemable packrat practically since conception, just like my father (again, denial of responsibility, due to a fluke of inferior genetics passed down on the patriarchal side.  You reproduced with him, Mom!  You knew what you were risking going in!).  (more…)

My only ONLY complaint with this very funny piece is that it fully raises one of my biggest pet peeves, the term “assless/buttless chaps.” Guize, srsly, chaps are, by DEFINITION, without fabric covering the ass & crotch area. That’s what essentially makes chaps chaps. Think about it, have you ever in your life seen a pair of chaps that covered up the ass area? No, you haven’t, because those are called “pants”, or, if you wanna be a stickler, “crotchless pants”, because chaps are open to the crotch as well. And if both crotch and ass are covered, the garment = pants. So, pants – crotch and ass covering = chaps, no? So, why the fuck is it so common for people to feel the need to say that chaps are “assless”? I don’t get it.
We need to retire the term “assless chaps” and fwd it the the Department of Redundancy Department once and for all, before I start slapping bitches. Suggestions for naming the act of wearing chaps with no pants beneath, only undies beneath, or nothing beneath include:
Stand-Alone Chaps
The Chunnel (“I see London, I see France”, get it?)
the French Quarter Special
South Beach Surprise
Miami Tuxedo
Save a Horse, Ride a Cliche’
Leave your other suggestions in the comments!!