Last week, I came home to find this:
That’s a dress I wore in a wedding once. I was the maid of honor. It was a beautiful wedding, and a nice dress.
Pants somehow found it and had to check it out. And apparently, she liked it so much she decided to do it again and again. This is apparently Pants’ new thing. She suddenly and uncontrollably loves to go under my bed, pull out all my fancy dresses, and sit on them. I shove them back under, and she pulls them back out. It’s happened half a dozen times so far.
See, I have a bag of old bridesmaids dresses and gowns leftover from college formals under the bed. I will probably never wear any of them ever again, and they’re not in style anymore, and I probably wouldn’t even fit into them anymore, and yet I can’t bring myself to throw them away. I’ve tried, several times. I’ve actually put the whole bag into the “donate to charity pile” and left it there for months, and then for some reason rescued it again. There are some good memories in that bag: Weddings of dear friends and roommates; the purple dress I bought for ten bucks at the thrift store without even trying it on; the brown dress I wore for the formal with the guy I pretended I didn’t like who later became my boyfriend. They’re just taking up space under my bed, but I somehow can’t bring myself to actually get rid of them.
Here she’s admiring a black one I wore to a friend’s formal work party when I was just out of college. It was quite nice. Pants agrees.
(Please note Jezebel down there in the bottom right corner, watching me curiously.)
Here’s what I came to another day. In this photo, you can see the purple dress, the black dress, and the garbage bag she tore open to get to them, as well as random other crap from under my bed:
And in this one, you can see a close-up of how she’s managed to shred one of the dresses:
Now, Pants is a diva. She loves to be the center of attention, and she’s prissy, and she’s a total snob, and you somehow love her for it. If she dressed herself, she’d wear stilettos and tiaras every day. She probably just gets my clothes out because she wants to wear pretty dresses. I get that.
But what I don’t get is why she has to ruin them. She has to be doing it on purpose.
My husband thinks she likes the way they sound when they crinkle and can’t stop herself from clawing at them, but I know better. I know it’s all part of her plan to slowly and methodically destroy everything that’s important to me.