Unmemorable school papers, broken down boxes of Rice Chex, rinsed-out jars of mayonnaise; they’re all curbside come Tuesday morning, ready to be reborn.
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Each year, at a point coinciding with leaves cascading downward and temps dipping below AARP membership age, I stroll into my local Target. This is not to be confused with regular trips to the bulls-eyed monolith. This trip is special. Moments after I enter, I exit with two pairs of charcoal grey Hanes sweatpants. As far as rituals go, this is quite possibly the most mundane in the history of man. Yet I am here turning the annual experience into an utterly captivating blog post. That’s how audaciously talented I am.
I wear the hell out of those homely sweatslacks during the chilly months that follow – from school drop off, to gym workout, to writing, to making dinner, to when slumber calls my number each evening. Then the buds emerge, the frost warning lifted, and colorful birds return to chirp to me their annual iCal alarm: it’s time, Bogle. It’s time to take scissors to the sweats and give them a new life as shorts for the warm months. This happened last week.
Like those recycled scraps I toss into green bins every week, the discarded legs of my sweatpants become shabby chic sweat skirts for my two beanpole daughters. That’s right, folks, with the help of some outstretched ankle elastic, each child pictured above is the size of one of my legs.
The lessons here? I gotta hit the gym more often, yes, but also that there is a 2nd life for just about everything, even haphazardly chopped up grey Hanes sweat pant legs.
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