Ahhhhhhh, the memories.

I was going through a box tonight, looking for a pair of wool socks for my upcoming trip. I found much more than the ultra-mega wool socks (which will coincidentally keep my feet more than warm during my 16 day camping trip/Earl dodging expedition); I found my mission tights. I know many sister missionaries find tights to be the bane of their existence. I was not one of them. I wore them gratefully (in addition to MANY other layers) so that I did not lose my lower extremities. I actually brought them home with me as a "family heirloom". Oh, they were funny. I think part of the reason that I couldn't part with them was for the shock factor. I knew my mom would be appalled when she saw them, but I loved them anyway. There were 2 pairs, both black, equally loved. The first have a hole in a nondescript location that my head would easily fit through. The second had multiple holes in the lower foot area. (The inside of my shoes wore out before the outside.) The legs were still intact and I could still wear them, just had to darn them so my foot didn't rub through. At the time of the darning, I was out of black thread. My companion had loads of thread, however, there was no black. One of the feet was mended in sea foam green. The other was mended in hot pink. I guess it's the closest to emo that I've ever been. I still have a cheesy grin on my face and it's been 45 minutes since I found them. Good memories. Chile. I miss Chile. I'll get over it. I've still got the tights, right?