Freshman year my mom told me she wouldn't buy me anymore belts because I kept losing them. I went out to purchase my own so I could learn a lesson. I bought a size 42 belt because it was on sale for $2 at Kohl's and cut it down to size and poked the appropriate holes. I had that belt from freshman year till just a couple of weeks ago when I fell off my bike the first day I rode clipless downtown and broke the leather that had been corroding away for years from my sweaty-ness.
I was actually sad. I had so many amazing memories in the belt. I remember swimming in the lake from the rope swing to the bluffs we jumped off and even the dirtiest memories of watching this belt being taken off by girls for so many years (With all due respect).
So, thanks, Mom. You taught me a lesson. I kept the belt I purchased for almost seven years.
So today I ate some birthday cake at the office and wrapped my dirty-memory-of-first-blowjob belt around the plate and documented it appropriately. And here I am telling you, completing, what I feel is, my cycle of documentation.
P.S. I still have the buckle. I am wearing it now. Where the buckle meets my skin is corroded away from abrasion and other shit, mainly sweat. So into it.
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