in which Wardrobe Stealing is advocated. also, self-righteousness finds its home.

one of my main reasons for embarking on my journey towards Irreversible Dykedom was the prospect of broadening my wardrobe to include the clothing of my lover(s). stealing clothes is a great (read: free) way to avoid the washing of my own clothes and the (r)evolution (note mocking usage of trendy wordplay) of my Style. my Style is very important to me, in that i don't care at all what i'm wearing as long as most people in a very Scientific poll on my appearance would check the box marked Gender Ambiguous, or 'how come that guy has a pink belt and really large boobies?', or 'how come that girl's so tall and has a strange preference for collared shirts? seriously, she's wearing two.'

this extremely clever plan backfired with the Short One. whereas wearing my 'grove hill elementary' t-shirt results in the Short One appearing Relaxed, Comfortable, and Thugged Out In A Non-Thuggish Pasty Kind Of Way, wearing her frumpy v-neck sweater makes me appear as a seriously misinformed Pasty that thinks that sweater in any way can be described as Fitting Her. the wearing of the sweater generally involves a great deal of Midriff Baring and Sweater Stretching, which if the Short One found out about would start in on a 5 minute Fake-Mad lecturing session. i make concerted efforts on a daily basis to avoid said lecturing sessions, which invariably result in Private Joking. so don't tell her. for real. she doesn't know about the sweater.

once i ran out of socks and thought it prudent to steal hers, but immediately after pulling them on in a non-gentle way i padded off to the bathroom to wash my socks in the tub. the heels of her socks clandestinely lodged themselves in the arches of my feet, and it felt weird when i put on shoes. you try it. feels weird.

so as i travel the dusty and well-worn trails of Irreversible Dykedom, i will continue to search for a tall person that likes me enough to not mind when i steal hir clothing. of course i will give hir free choice of my clothing, that's only fair. but not my pink belt. thing's a classic.

those of you wishing to self-righteously hate on polyamory, you may commence to do so...now.