Belts, I hate them

I’ve tried to avoid the use of belts and for many years was able to manage my clothing without one. However, with the face in the mirror telling me my age and my body telling me the type of clothes I will buy, I find an unpleasant truth – I need a belt. Either that or a tailor to alter my clothes.

So I tried the belt today. I can honestly say I still hate them. That and the tag at the back of my shirt could have pushed me over the edge today. I could have snapped. I just want you to all know how close it was – complete meltdown was imminent but avoided through the judicial use of tylenol and a suture cutter.

The belt was still making my clothes touch me around the middle but by offsetting the tag overload I was able to withstand the noxious stimuli and get on with the job of pushing papers around my desk. It was certainly a difficult day – what with maintenance changing the light bulbs and searing our corneas with new florescence, clothing tags, belts and who knows what else? I made an executive decision to cut and run before I had complete filter failure.

Weirdness doesn’t even come close.

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