A fate worse than spandex. A photo essay.

I have discovered something worse than shopping for jeans.

No. Wait.

I have discovered something worse than shopping for swimsuits.

Last night, I spent roughly 4 hours cleaning out my closet. Oh, yes. That is worse than getting in miniature spandex in a 4 x 4 room with nothing but you, a mirror and really bad fluorescent light.

Don’t believe me?

 

VS.

 

Oh. I’m sorry. Are we not appreciating the trauma here?

 

Today I am giving these jeans to a much thinner than me stranger. (Who I will mentally curse and give a cute nickname like stupid skinny twat lady stranger.)

And if that’s not tragic enough

 

I rest my case.

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