You see, my mom has been working with various charities through the years. She’s always found painting, sewing and preparing things for sale in countless bazaars, when she’s not teaching orphans. Sadly, she tends to get carried away.
Growing up, I never knew whether I’d find my clothes in my closet, or if she would have given them away to a passerby, or to be sold off at a bazaar. Nor was I alone in my predicament; my father suffered the same fate. To illustrate my point, consider the case of the disappearing pair of jeans.
My dad had this pair of jeans that he loved. He’s a rotund fellow (albeit less so, nowadays) and that one pair of trousers fit…
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