Stolen coats

Stolen coat with checked lining doing all classy theft and stuff 10/2016
The yin and yang of two crappy coats zipped together 2/18/19


The first coat I “stole” this year: black, enormous, hideous, belonged to James; acquired when he mistakenly included it in the three bags of the girls’ dirty laundry he dropped off into my entryway last December; naturally I kept it, and wore it right in front of him several times, because piss off, douche: I’m not your maid. I looked so bad in it, sometimes I’d laugh when I’d catch a glimpse of myself.

The second coat I stole this year: black, enormous bomb-shelter-wannabe thing, belonged to Julia’s coworker who left it in her car right before moving to Southern California; he knew that I was wearing it, didn’t care, and there were some pretty good FB jokes about the coat that we were then sharing. Wearing the coat in public was embarrassing to the point where even if it was really cold outside, I’d leave it in my car when I went into stores.

So I bought a new coat. A $200 green Columbia. Because I was tired of stolen black coats, and wanted to try and be classy and spice things up, rather than walking around in oversized coats accessorized solely with cat hair but after two months of wearing my new classier coat, I’ve realized that green is a very impractical color unless you’re the type of person who’s okay with walking around and looking like a piece of dirty shit within 3 hours of washing it. Come to find out: I’m not.


Yesterday, in a pile of stuff in our spare room, I found the coat you see in the first pic.

“Whose coat is this?”

“I don’t know; I found it in my car; I think it’s Chris’s.”

She thinks but she doesn’t KNOW. Could be Chris’s; could belong to some random person I’d hate on sight; could be the devils; could belong to that asshole who tailgated me this morning. Besides, we haven’t seen Chris since October; he hasn’t asked for it; he loves me; I need a coat; mind-whirs AND, boom, here we both are, my new coat and I.

I think the take away here is that some people can do being out in public and not feeling ashamed of how bad they look; some people can make the effort, and do classy green coats that look impeccable all the time. And some people just take whatever leftover shit is lying around and call it good.

Note the checked lining though. I bet it’s gonna be my best stolen coat yet.

Edit February 18, 2019: I have since agreed to let the universe judge me as it sees fit for my appearance and have taken over the busy presidents day pet sitting weekend to wearing both the green coat and the huge coat from Julia‘s coworker. The latter now sports a tear from a dog jumping up which caused the white stuffing to come out in the exact region (if my keys were in my pocket) where my nipple would be so that I’d be walking around in this enormous black coat outfitted with a white furry pasty; I may or may not be proud to admit that I forgot about the tear until I was rushing out of the house one morning and covered it with a piece of duct tape thinking I’d sew it later but sewing never happened so I now have a black duct tape pasty. Which I consider an improvement, both aesthetically and metaphorically. Then this morning in some leveled up zen bullshit, I accidentally zipped the two coats together, a feat that I didn’t know was even possible but now feels like an entirely fresh story arc.

[For those of you who don’t know me, James is my girls’ dad who in 2007 wanted a divorce because he was cheating then devastated me/the girls by leaving to Virginia to live with her—moving back to Utah after a year because affairs are often like that—and it’s basically been one load after another of dirty laundry stacked in my entryway ever since]

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