Touch my clothes, and I punch your face.

The Toronto cold is at full force as the deadly winter temperatures drop to a devastating low of -22. Draped in my oversized American Apparel scarf and heavy winter jacket I take the first step into the frigid air. With Witt by my side we make the commute to our evening class.

Upon entering my condo this afternoon, I came to realize that something was missing; I could not find my combat boots anywhere. I looked through every inch of the condo and soon came to the conclusion that my boots were gone. Panicked, I texted my roommates with the hope of finding my precious boots. Panicked, my heart skipped a beat when the chime of my phone went off. The message was from Brit alerting me of how he borrowed my boots.

I will retype that for emphasis: He borrowed my boots. 

Yes, I understand that it is positively freezing outside, but that does not mean that I am okay with sharing my clothing. In my mind, my clothes are basically my holy book. My clothes all serve a certain purpose within my closet for they all are attributes of certain outfits. In no reasonable means are my clothes able to be used at my roommates disposal.
I have been rather easy going with in regards to personal space and privacy, but this has definitely crossed a line.

Maybe I am over-reacting to the fact that Brit borrowed my boots, but I am definitely not okay with sharing my belongings.

The moral of this post is as follows: If you decide to borrow an article of clothing without telling me, do not be surprised if you wake up in the middle of a fire.

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