Yesterday I mentioned my pants. These pants.
You know those little code phrases that have a specific meaning in your house? "Summer pants" is one of ours, and it stands for any item of clothing I buy at the start of summer and wear almost daily though the season. Doesn't have to be pants. As you'll see, I'm attached to a certain shirt as well.
Tim noticed this little quirk of mine when we started dating and coined the phrase. Like salmon run downstream, each April I set out in search for summer pants. The general requirements are a sturdy fabric and a loose fit. They must be outdoor play pants. I found some khakis this year.
These pants may be the dirtiest in Montana. I'm 99.9 percent sure they haven't been washed since June.
A few laundry days ago I looked down and thought "I should really wash these pants. But then I'd have nothing to wear while everything else is in the wash. Oh well."
And then I realized it'd had that exact same thought every laundry day through the summer. Tim doesn't remember washing them his laundry excursions either.
So now I'm intentionally abstaining from washing. Until when? Maybe the first snow. That's the surest sign of the end of summer in Montana.
At least I got my money's worth.