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…)

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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
Chanties
Chundergarments
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!!