Charity case

I get rid of clothes fairly frequently.  Don't get me wrong, I'm no super shopper, but as soon as I realise I've not worn something for a year - perhaps it looks a bit old, or has a small fault, or - very often - (ahem) that it no longer fits me, I'm pretty good about filling one of the charity bags that comes through the door.

I mean, yes, I think everyone has a nightie left over from their university days, or a t-shirt bought when in the sixth form, but generally, I'd say the average age of an item in my wardrobe is about two years old.  Maybe three.  I think that sounds reasonable.

TheBloke (TM) on the other hand... well.  We've known each other for nearly five years... and in all that time I've never seen him throw away a single pair of pants.  Or socks.  He buys more, for sure, but I've never seen him throw away the old ones.  Worse still, he has hideous pairs of grey Woolworths boxers (he tells me Woolworths is upmarket in his native South Africa).  And he wears them.  I know for a fact these pants are getting on for ten years old.

Shoes, on the other hand, he goes through like nobody's business.  Find a cheap shoe shop, reeking of plastic and glue, and TheBloke (TM) will be in there, handing over his £10.  "But they're so cheap!" he says.  Fast forward to two weeks later and he's donating them to charity ("They hurt my feet" - who would have thought?  "I did wear them twice!" he adds.) and browsing yet more shoes on the Internet.  He's such a girl.

STOP PRESS: TheBloke (TM) has just come downstairs after rustling charity sacks conspicuously, and is reading over my shoulder.  "I just threw out some pants!" he says.  Too little, too late.