It was a sad moment, but I finally had to throw away one of my thick leather belts. This belt had been with me since at least 2017, through thick and thin (literally, given my fluctuating body shape). But over the past few months, the belt had been showing signs of age, wear, and tear: it was, for example, shedding little bits and crumbs of dried leather all over my floor every time I took it off from my pants and hung it on a rack. The buckle had become so loose that the prong kept popping off, and my pants would start falling down—not a nice thing to happen when you're inside a subway station, innocently walking along. Even though I've regained weight over the course of this year, I'm still at a net loss from July of last year, so my pants are loose. Can't afford loose belts.
A few days ago, with great regret, I rolled my old belt into a spiral and tossed it in the trash. Was this as sad as Thanos throwing Gamora off the cliff in "Infinity War" to acquire the Soul Stone? No, but I knew how Thanos felt, and I was filled with much the same regret. Goodbye, fair belt. I don't know what sort of heaven awaits faithful strips of leather; maybe the leather is reunited with the cow it came from. Maybe, instead of harps, there is the eternal sound of whipping. Well, whatever heaven might be for a belt, I hope my belt is there among the clouds, enjoying whatever counts as beltic bliss.
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