One Pair of Pants

In the world of aging immaturity and nyc living I have found myself in a bind. My parents have lost my summer clothing. No, I do not live with them. However, I have arranged joint custody of my wardrobe with my parents. In the summer months my winter clothing lives with my parents. In the winter months my winter clothes come back to live with me and my summer clothes go to Jersey to visit with my parents.

The weather hit 80 degrees this weekend. I called my parents and said, can you guys stop by your storage facility and pick up my summer stuff. "Yeah, sure no problem," they responded. Two hours later they called me back, "We can't find them, are you sure you gave them to us."
"Well, I've searched each inch of my 8x11 bedroom and can't seem to find them."
"Hmm? well, maybe their in our house."
Today I received a phone call from my father.
"Yeah, funny, we don't seem to have you clothes here either."
Hysterical. I can't believe these people want to be grandparents. They can't even keep track of non-animated, breathable fabrics. Granted, if I had children I don't think I would leave them at my parents' for months at a time, but then again if I still lived in this apartment in Brooklyn I'd have to. I can't store my kids under my bed like I do my rollerblades and computer paraphernilia. I mean, I could. My bed is about three feet off the floor and kids especially babies are small. But i'm sure they'd cry under there and I'd never get any sleep.

My parents' excuse for loosing my clothes is that they are in the midst of moving. They have sold my childhood home and moved into a small rental house where they live and wait for their new house to be built. (Estimated time of completion October.) This is some retirement investment plan. They say if they had any hope of me achieving economic success they never would have had to move; and therefore, they never would have lost my clothes. And I'd just like to mention I never chose to be born. They did choose to have a child. They only have the one kid and sure i'm nearing 28 and I should be able to live in a place that has enough room for four seasons of clothing, but I don't.

I'd love to be sympathetic to their retirement and old age concerns, but i'm about to find myself in the midst of a NYC summer. 97 degree weather with 90% humidity and all i have to wear is wool!

I'm not heartless. I would never turn my back on them in their old age. They are more than welcome to live under my bed in their golden years.

If you see me this summer wondering around Brooklyn insane and naked have compassion--hose me down and throw me a t-shirt. Please, don't call the cops.