I always thought I throw so little away. How I still use each dish of rice with fantasy, ingeniously! But then I looked more closely and a large black hole spread itself out, which covered over my self-satisfaction. I mean, it isn’t bad. But it seems so hopeless: my beloved stockings. I throw heaps of them away. Because it is so that I must wear stockings in the cold Central European winter, if I have to wear skirts and dresses. I like those made of cotton, because that feels good. But something, I thought then, do not fit with the special kind of my thighs.
Again and again, in the shortest time, large holes are rubbed into the material at the height of my thighs. Then I throw the things away, because I don’t need to collect that many rags by saving them all. In the meantime I think: my thighs are fully ok. What is wrong with this strange way of production?! Recently I was even too lazy to bring the pants in to exchange after they became torn after being worn twice…
[Alchemilla, Germany]