That One Pair of Pants

You know that one pair of pants you have?
You know the pair I’m talking about.
The one stuffed.  
In the very back of the drawer.
The pair that every time you put them on
You groan.
Because they’re too tight.
Or too loose.
They just don’t fit right.
But even if they did fit just right,
You’d still groan.
Because they’d still be your least favorite pair of pants.
And yet there they are.
Stuffed in the back of your drawer.
You say you’re hanging on to them just in case.
In case you run out of clean clothes.
In case you gain or lose some weight.
So you hang onto them.
Just in case.

Meanwhile you’re favorite pants,
The ones you actually wear,
The ones you love to wear,
Are falling out the front.
Out the front of your impossibly stuffed drawer.
And every time you try to put your pants away,
It’s a losing  battle.
You push them in,
Push against the clothes in the back,
Trying to make room.
Pushing more,
Organizing more,
Folding more,
Until finally you give up,
Close the drawer as best as you can,
And walk away.

But what if you got rid of those pants.
The ones stuffed.
In the very back of the drawer.
What if you didn’t hold onto them,
Just in case.
What if you finally let them go?

And along with that pair,
You said goodbye to those shirts.
The ones that your sister gave you,
But you never really liked.
The shirts you haven’t worn in three months.
And then the belts,
And the shoes,
And then, of course, the socks.
The ones with holes.
And the ones that slide off your heel.
And don’t forget the ones that don’t have a match,

And once you’ve said goodbye
To all these unused things,
Your clothing choices remain the same.
You still wear your favorite pants,
Mixed and matched,
With all the clothes you like.
But now when you go to put away,
Your favorite pair of pants,
There is no battle.
You open the drawer,
Place them in,
And close the drawer tight.
Easy.
Quick.
And you never miss that one pair of pants.