Flirtation in Stripes.

Oh shredded Modcloth sweater. Yes, I see you. I see your comfy, thick threads, your tattered holes and your not-so-subtle tugging at my weakness for the English boarding school vibe. You know it is all too easy to get me going with your white and black stripes and casually pushed up sleeves.

I can see you making those eyes at me, casually trotting out the fact that you're on sale now. Half off you say? Of course you are.

I have no idea where I could respectfully take you out. Do your holes look deliberate enough that I could class you up with a girly dress and playful belt and introduce you to my coworkers, or would you just appear frumpy and sloppy? I know my mother wouldn't approve of you. She always prefers when I bring home something more clean cut. If you managed to get dirty over time, and I hinted to you that it was time to clean up... I have a feeling you'd fall apart on me.

You know my wallet has nothing in it but moths and the lingering, accusatory smell of a long vacancy. You know you won't keep me warm on cold days, and I know you'll be all too happy to point out my prominent hips when we're in public.

Yet I can't help but glance over and check you out, biting my lip and imagining how wonderful we could be...