So Much For That

It is somewhat seldom that I buy new clothes. This will not come as a shock to anyone who has seen the collection of items that make up my wardrobe: they are a combination of the following: hand-me-downs from pitying friends or family members with better taste than I, but who had originally purchased with themselves in mind; the remnants of school rummage sales; goodwill items; second-hand store items, and the occasional brand-new piece. I was wearing a pair of pants in the last category this morning; I, who dislike shopping immensely and who has never stepped in a store on Black Friday, suffered a temporary bout of consumerism (I'm better now, thank you) and bought several things the day after Thanksgiving.

Having carefully removed not one, not two, but three tags this morning just after 5am in the sleepy dark, I set off to work congratulating myself for not having missed that third tag.

I missed the fourth.

You know, the long strip of tape that runs down the leg with the brand and size printed on it for such cheaper items as one finds at Kohl's?

I had been at work nearly four hours before an employee, bless her, politely pointed it out to me. True, I'd been mostly alone or sequestered in my office for that time. But still.

Another day started with a dose of humility.