Don’t Sweat It

Today the air is stale in the nook. The pillows are askew and there’s a collection of coffee mugs on the side table. It isn’t very inviting, unfortunately your host has other things on her mind…

Don’t Sweat It

There’s an old pair of sweats in a rumpled gray heap on the bed.

Slung off and forgotten for the day.

But they are loved.

Who wouldn’t love something so soft?

Something so worn in?

So forgiving?

And ok, the waist has let go, 

the elastic gone crunchy and slack.

And yeah, they’ve faded over the years.

Gotten saggy in the ass, and loose around the thighs.

But he can’t live without them.

Not yet.

He can’t just throw them out.

Not until he has a replacement.

They’re his comfort zone.

His sick day attire.

He loves the feel of them against his crotch…

Of course, he’d never wear them out in public. 

Never be seen with such a blown out fit…

No.

He’ll pick up a new pair soon enough.

The old sweats served him well.

But everything ends up in the trash

And the sweats, well, they might have lasted longer than most things…

But their worth is finite.

And he doesn’t keep garbage.

He throws it out.