Pick me. Choose me.

I used to be fit. Marks nonexistent and her shape unknown. Hung up in the racks with my friends. The hope of getting bought, looked at, or on a perfect day tried on. But after she bought me it’s been hell ever since. 

I can't believe she just puts me on again and again and again. Can a girl ever get a BREAK? Sometimes I feel today will be the day she doesn't wear me but then here comes her claw machine hand picking me out of the drawer. Sometimes, I try to hide in the clean laundry basket and shuffle under the sweaters so she can't see me. But as always, she dumps the basket on the bed and puts every item back piece by piece. All in search of me.

I used to love going out with her! Every adventure with the sun hitting me and the seats I've snuggled with always brought me happiness. I felt special. Now I feel worn. Like my days are numbered. We used to fit together perfectly. Our hugs felt comfortable. Now I just feel constricted. Like no matter what she will always find me. I give her wedgies, hike up too high on her thighs, and even leave some stains so she has to scrub extra hard. She doesn't mind it. No matter what I do. She picks the wedgie out, pulls down the legs, and even gives me an extra soak with scent boosters before the wash.

Others in the drawer would rip themselves in two to be with her, and yet here I am. Being forced to hug and snuggle and endure. All I can do is endure. She'll never let me go no matter what I do. The other shorts roll their eyes and scoff at my complaints. Wishing they could be picked a fraction as much as I have, but I tell them the same thing. No matter where you hide she'll always be there. I stretch for her. I’m always stretching for her. She puts me in the dryer and I snap back into place for a day or two before I’m stretched again. I can’t take it.

  And today like any other, she rifles through the drawer searching for me. Her claw hand reaches for me. I know it is. Another day worn I see. Instead,  I feel her push me aside and pull the khaki pants from under me. What? I watch her jump, struggling to put them on, and smile in triumph as they’re buttoned. No way! Warm joy spreads through me and I snuggle deeper in the folds. Finally! I cheer and whoop loudly as the drawer closes and I’m left to the beautiful quiet dark. Peace! 

I didn't see her again till early the next morning. The bright light shines onto my button and I relish it. The break was so nice. All I ever needed was a day. A day to let the warm dryer soak into my stitches. A day to let my tags smooth out. The claw comes down and I’m ready. I wait. I feel the ruffling. Why am I still waiting? I look to my left just to see her pull a pair of jean cargo pants out. What’s going on?

“It’s ‘bout that time of year,” Acid Wash overalls sigh from the open closet next to me.

What time of year? Before I can ask I’m forced into darkness. The quiet. The quiet I used to yearn for was now my prison. I’m stuck in this stupid, tiny drawer crammed with the other shorts and sweatpants. This is a one-time thing. Right? Time starts to pass quickly and slowly all at the same time. Some days she opens the drawer to pull out a pair of sweatpants or her softer lounge shorts. On worse days, the darkness feels eternal. I’m eventually shuffled to the bottom underneath everyone. I wish she would pick me up again. Just a day with the warmth of her thighs clinging to my material. Our hugs felt like forever. Our adventures from seat to seat that she loved to bring me on. One day like it used to be. The drawer opens finally after what feels like months. She shuffles through like before. Digging for probably another pair of sweatpants. I continue to lie still in my forced grave. And then I feel it. The grip of her hand. The feeling of her nails digging into my material. 

She picked me.