NEW DIMENSION OF DISGUST

The other night, a friend of mine told me a story.
It seems an acquaintance of hers was on vacation, and did not have a dressy pair of trousers for a specific event.
She asked the woman she was staying with if she could borrow a pair of hers.
This woman replied; "Sure, you can borrow these, as long as you don't mind the clitty litter."
CLITTY LITTER.
Clitty mother fucking Litter.

There are so many, many problems with this story:

1. No woman over the age of 13 should borrow another woman's trousers. If I didn't have suitable attire for an event while I was far from home, my plan would be thus:

A. Put on some fabulous lipstick.
B. Wear whatever sequined unitard, billowing Hammer pants, scratch n' sniff ski boots, fringed and beaded bustier, Bedazzled chaps or plaid poncho I had in my suitcase. (And yes, some of those items have been found in my suitcase before.)
C. Hope I could slide by on my wit and charm.

Shit, I didn't even like trading clothes when I was 13. Made no sense to me. I was never interested in joining the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants.

2. If you are offering trousers {shudder} to another woman...GIVE HER A CLEAN PAIR!

3. I cannot stress how grossed out I am by this "clitty litter" term. It is so vile that it haunts my dreams and every waking hour. I will not be able to eat cottage cheese for months. I will not look at cats or trousers or litter boxes in the same way again. I will be dropping off all of my trousers at the dry cleaners, even ones I haven't worn yet. If this condition persists, you will probably find me hallucinating in an alley way somewhere, wild-eyed, frightened, chanting "clitty litter, clitty litter, clitty litter" over and over again, rubbing myself with raw meat.*

*Reference to a brilliant 1993 Lifetime movie starring Valerie Bertinelli called "Murder of Innocence". The raw meat scene is acting at it's finest.