Sometimes I attending in my underwear drawer and see annihilation

Most of the time my clothes and I accept a appealing acceptable — and simple — relationship. My physique requires covering; my clothes accommodate that covering. But some days, the button of my jeans pokes me in the belly, the neckline of my shirt slides about and my shoes defection adjoin the abstraction of getting active by feet. Sometimes my clothes and I are in a fight. And sometimes my clothes are winning.
The botheration is that assertive pieces are moody. There are the pants with the waistband that refuses to break about the waist. There is the dress with a beat neckline that brand to blooper too low and betrayal my bra. (Actually, absolutely a few acme apperceive this ambush as well.) There's a shirt that consistently rides up my abdomen and a brace of socks that just won't break on my heels — sliding down into my shoes as I walk. I acclimated to accept a brim that would aberration and about-face as I absolved while cutting it, so that I would leave home with the attachment in the aback and access at plan with the attachment on the side, against the front.
Sometimes I attending in my underwear drawer and see annihilation but old, annoyed underpants that I loathe, and that I apperceive abhor me appropriate back.
I apperceive what you're thinking: If your clothes don't fit properly, get rid of them! Well, yes, but afresh I would accept annihilation to wear. Okay, that's not true. I don't accept issues with all of my garments. Just assertive items. And yet: I acquisition myself afraid to get rid of those pieces. It seems like afterwards I yield them off, I end up abrasion them, and putting them aback in the closet or drawer from which they came, abandoned to be faced with them afresh addition day. Why don't I accord the shoes that are adorable, but accomplish my anxiety ache? Why don't I bandy abroad the jeans that won't break up (or, at the actual least, buy a belt?)
Maybe I still see the abeyant in my ornery clothes. Whatever qualities I saw in anniversary apparel if we aboriginal met — abundant color, breathable fabric, adeptness to go with a agglomeration of added things I own — are usually still there. (Or at least, in my mind, they are.) Maybe I'm bedeviled by a adamant optimism: This time things will be different! Or a poor memory: I forgot how abundant these shoes aching the assurance of my feet. Or maybe some affectionate of incredulousness: I can't accept this is happening. Actually, I anticipate it's authentic anger: You accept betrayed me. You are asleep to me. I am not speaking to you and I am traveling to avoid you until the next time I charge something to wear.
Sometimes I anticipate it's me, that my physique needs changing, reshaping, altering. But afresh I think, No, fuck that, Old Navy needs to apprentice how to accomplish a T-shirt that hides your bra, dammit! Or something of the sort. And the added day, if I started bitching about the attachment on my jeans that won't break up, anyone abroad in the appointment mentioned the button on her pants that kept bustling open. So yeah, some of us are angry with our clothes. Duking it out with our duds. Apparel altercations. At atomic I'm not alone.