Lists For No Reason #3: Things I Have Lost

1) My first pair of glasses. Electric blue, with tiny rectangular frames. The last day I remember having them, I was at a cafe with some friends, celebrating the last day of the 5th (or 6th?) grade. Then after I lost them, I had to wear my backup glasses, which were this light purple color and oddly football shaped. Terrible decision. Kids, go with black for your first pair of glasses. Both pairs. And don't let your dad rush you through the decision making process. Frames ARE important. It's an accessory that lives on your face, and if you lose a pair, tiny purple footballs are flattering to NOBODY. Except maybe Emma Stone. Or Emma Watson. Everything looks good on the Emmas.

2) The sweatshirts.

a) The pink one. I was ten or so, and it was a hot pink sweatshirt with like a turtlenecky neck...Something like this grey one, but like a serious shade of pink. This pink was not messing around.  It was about four sizes too big for me, this being the 90s. I also wore it with stirrup leggings at least once.

This was my anti-pink phase, so it was weird that I even liked this sweatshirt, let alone LOVED it. I think it was too comfortable to rebel against.

b) The turquoise velour one. I left it in my high school library.

c) The black one with the tan splattery/swirly paint pattern across the front. That thing fit perfectly, and it had frayed cuffs and no fleece on the inside, just that nice worn cotton. It was a wardrobe staple. I have no idea where I lost it, but it was a bittersweet goodbye... I knew I would have to get rid of it soon, given that it was falling apart and I was starting to discover that a person often looks less like a cartoon character when they don't wear the same zip up hoodie every single day. But still. It was there for me through so much, and it always gave off the perfect vibe of nonchalant artsyness.

3) Socks & hair pins. I swear there is a gremlin living somewhere in my house with very warm feet, rocking a killer updo. Considering that I live with my family, he also probably gets into bars using my brother's old ID and reads a lot of important tax documents with flowery +2.5 reading glasses.

4) The things my parents have gotten rid of. I know this doesn't really count as me losing stuff, but it FEELS like loss, okay?!

a) That doll I used to play with in the bathtub. I include her out of respect for my eight-year-old self, who used to frantically search for her in the basket of tub toys (yeah, we had a whole basket of tub toys, go judge someone your own size) only to give up, hoping she would appear someday among Esau's hot wheels and my Barbies. Though I no longer remember her name, I am certain it was beautiful. As was her little purple tail. (Did I mention she was a plastic mermaid?)

b) My Cinderella cup. It was one of those ones where there were two layers of sides, so that it was a sort of snow globe. It had sparkles, it had stars, and it had Cinderella. (SARAH'S mom didn't throw out HER old Disney cups.)

c) The conversion van. Granted, this was never actually mine. But it was awesome. I could revolve my seat all the way around, and it had a built-in TV. With channels. And a VCR. And a seat in the far back that RECLINED ALL THE WAY INTO A BED. Best road trip vehicle EVER. And I do not recall being consulted when my parents traded it in. Er, sold it off the driveway. Scrapped it? Damn, where did that thing go?

5) The Best Jeans Ever. They were Levis. Bootcut. Size 3. These are technically still in my possession, but...they have had a pair of scissors taken to them and I don't know if they will ever walk as pants again. Why, you ask? I'll tell you.

I was in my seventeenth year. I was taking a tap class in which we were dancing to "Another One Bites The Dust" by Queen. The costume was t-shirts that one of my classmates graffitied with our names, ripped jeans, and a chain attached to our ankles. (It was actually pretty badass. Or at least I thought so.) Our teacher asked us to bring in jeans so he could rip the living hell out of them. Yes, I knew what was coming. I just didn't expect the emotional turmoil that became the fallout of watching someone I loved, respected, and had seen fart purposefully into other dance classrooms on numerous occasions (the man has skills), tear apart my most comfortable pair of pants.

Let me be clear: If you ever, for any reason, are thinking of getting rid of, or further ruining, a pair of PERFECTLY BROKEN-IN JEANS that fit your butt IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY and hit your ankles IN EXACTLY THE RIGHT PLACE just because they have ONE RIP in the knee, DON'T DO IT. The regrets involved are too high a price to pay.

Since this trauma suffered at the hands of a pair of craft scissors, I have worn the jeans only once: at the dance recital in which I performed said number with all the badassery of Freddy Mercury himself. (I may have worn them again at the premier of RENT, which I went to as Mimi. With fishnets underneath. We don't really have to talk about that.) They now sit in the bottom of my closet, waiting to be patched in some crazy funky way or turned into a comfortable pair of shorts whenever I am brave enough to face them or have time to take on a craft project that requires reliving heartache. Which will probably be never.

And no, since you ask, I have not yet found a pair of jeans that fit that perfectly, though I have searched high and low (i.e. Gap and Salvation Army).

Now, if you will excuse me, I will dry my tears and get on with my ridiculous life. Thank you for your sympathy.