On Fridays, I wear camouflage. Specifically, I wear a pair of camo track pants that are old and remain baggy and saggy even fresh from the wash. They’re also decorated with a bit of paint splatter from when I painted the mudroom walls London Fog, one of the 73,295,146 types of white available at the paint store.

The pants aren’t a thing of beauty by any stretch, and never were – they came from Walmart originally – but I can attach quite strongly to things on occasion, and I’ve attached to these pants.

However, since part of my eating disorder recovery is practicing better self-care, and since part of better self-care is not heading out into the world looking like an uncaring slob, a compromise was required.

So, on Fridays, I wear past-their-prime camouflage track pants, but I make sure everything else is on point. I put on a good top and some good shoes – usually my shit-kicking, black leather Uggs – and I make sure I’m clean and brushed with my face made up. I’m not sure it makes up for the pants, but I’m also not sure I care.

On Fridays we wear camo. On Saturdays, we clean up the desktop. And on Wednesdays, we wear pink.

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