In the beginning...

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Which I am very grateful for! But that's a story for another time (or now if you chose to open a bible/web page and check out Genesis 1:1. I won't be offended if you leave me so early in the game. It's a way better story/truth anyway). 


But in the beginning of this story is 3 huge kleensaks of clothes. Or was it when I raided mum's cupboard, or when my brother bought me a pair of bright red Dickies pants. Maybe it was when I had that matching spandex Mickey Mouse outfit. Wherever it started, I know it's a genetic thing. I got it from my mum, and she got it from her mum, who must have got it from...well, you get the point.


What I'm trying to say is. I. love. clothes.


Not in the, "OMG, let's go shopping and max out dad's credit card, yeah. Glassons - here we come" way.  Although I have been known to max out credit cards...


I've tried to describe the way that I love clothes, but I keep end up hitting the delete button. So maybe through this blog, I'll be able to explain the relationship that clothes and I have with each other. Because there are a lot of things that I would give up for clothes, but there are also a lot of things I would rather have than clothes. Maybe I should talk to my boss, Greg, about this. He's one of those guys who finds a cord and manages to unravel it, and lay it out into a nice neat roll ready for knitting.  I'll get back to ya with his thoughts...


And back on track... a couple of weeks ago, my freaking fantasticly amazing sister, who I fondly refer to as Grizalda, Grizzy, Melz, Grizuda, Oi and Girl, gave me 3 kleensak's worth of clothes. These weren't just any old hand-me-downs. These bits of cloth come straight out of her grandma's closet (and straight out of the 70s and 80s).


You see, the thing that I love about hand-me-downs, op shop finds, clothes from your mum's closet - in fact anything old or second-hand - is that they have a history. Maybe this was their favorite dress to wear out to social gatherings, or their sister sent it to them from Hawaii, or it was their preggie dress, or it was their favorite sweater.  And when you wear it, you add your story to it.


So this isn't supposed to be some pretentious, look-book wannabe hipster blog, where I post how swag I'm looking in the hopes that some other hipster sees it and hypes it. It's for Grizzy, so she can see what I'm wearing with my freshly washed (and napi-saned) clothes. It's also for my mum to look at and shake her head in shame. Which we all know is a facade, because she used to wear lime green pant suits. And maybe one day someone will be on the interwebs and come across my blog, look down at their sweater and look back up at the screen and proclaim, "Hey, that's my sweater"